


Domestic Drabbles

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Smut Chapter(s) Marked, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 33,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23115277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: Short moments of domestic bliss.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Comments: 364
Kudos: 142





	1. Doing Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts I'm using all come from the [30 Days of Domestic Fluff](https://melonmachinery.tumblr.com/post/130275833173/30-days-of-domestic-fluff) list on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language, mildly implied sexual content

If Stretch had to be stuck doing one chore for the rest of his life, it would without a doubt be laundry.

First off, unlike most chores, laundry is something he can do with his ass nicely settled on the couch and watching tv, which is a definite plus. There's nothing like getting to seem productive while doing some hardcore Netflix marathons. Sure, switching loads actually requires getting up, but when compared to stuff like mopping and scrubbing the toilet that they never use but Edge still insists that they clean, it’s absolutely nothing. And given the way Edge likes to presort and pretreat everything before he even tosses it into the hamper, loading clothes into the washer doesn’t even require activating the good old thinker. It's an easy peasy time.

Laundry is also one of the chores that is the most immediately rewarding. Vacuuming can never reach the level of delight of taking something fresh out of the dryer. The pinnacle of warmth and coziness, Stretch loves it when he can bury his face into a freshly washed and dried hoodie, relishing in the nice homey smell of their detergent and fabric softener. 

But Stretch’s favourite type of laundry days would probably have to be when they wash their sheets.

Before he had moved in with Edge, that wasn’t the case; if anything, it was the opposite. Trying to deal with all that fabric to fold by himself was a nightmare, always ending in a tangled mess before he gave up and tossed them aside. His arms would twist into the world’s saddest pretzel, over and under and around each other in an attempt to keep the stupid things from dragging on the floor and becoming dirty all over again. It used to drive Blue crazy, the way he refused to wash his bedding, but Stretch could only deal with so much.

Now, though… 

“Here we are,” Edge murmurs, meeting him halfway to fold the sheet in half. Stretch keeps a steady grasp at the top, waiting for his boyfriend to collect the other end.

Without question, Stretch knows that Edge is perfectly capable of doing just as good of a job — if not better, in fact — folding sheets by himself. His baby has it down to an art form, all crisp folds and controlled swooshes of fabric to get it done. Damn impressive, in Stretch’s opinion.

Then again, is there anything that Edge can do that Stretch _doesn’t_ find impressive?

The point is, they technically don’t _need_ to fold their sheets together. Edge could just as easily call dibs on the overflowing basket and ask Stretch to get a headstart on tonight’s dishes. He could. 

Yet, here they are, moving clumsily together while the Food Network plays on in the background. It is almost a dance, the way they step forwards and backward, forwards and backward, arms rising and falling as they fold. Eventually, it gets to the point where Edge does the final fold by himself, setting the sheet aside while Stretch grabs the next one.

Stars, he loves him so much.

This time, Stretch has to resist the urge to bounce on his toes as Edge picks up his two corners of the sheet. Besides giving away his excitement, it will only go to complicate things. He has an idea, damn it, and he doesn’t want anything to delay it.

“What is that expression for?” Edge asks, a suspicious furrow in his brow appearing as they shake out the wrinkles.

Trying for innocence, Stretch replies, “nothing.”

“Hmph.” Still, Edge steps forward.

Any hint of suspicion soon melts from his face as they meet up in the middle. Leaning forward before Edge has the chance to let go, Stretch steals a kiss. 

_Yeah,_ he thinks as he sighs against Edge’s mouth, _this was an excellent idea_.

Edge, as it turns out, is two hundred and ten percent on board for this added step to the laundry process. With each time they meet in the middle, there comes another kiss, each one lingering slightly longer. And longer. And has he mentioned longer? Stretch is sure his face is as bright as a lightbulb by the time they get to the last thing in the basket, not that he cares. Opening his eyes, he meets Edge’s hazy gaze.

Hell yeah.

The last thing in the basket isn’t truly a sheet, but rather the throw blanket that is usually draped across the back of their couch. Needless to say, it isn’t too much of a surprise when, instead of folding it up, Edge uses his grasp on the corners to tug Stretch close. Getting scooped up and carried to the couch, however, is a bit more of a surprise, albeit not an unwelcome one. Especially when those skilled hands of his delve under the blanket.

And by the time they are done, if that particular blanket needs to be rewashed, well… it was well worth it. No complaints on Stretch’s part, that’s for sure.

Besides, that just means that he and Edge will get to do laundry together again.


	2. Keeping Plants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language

Stretch does not have a green thumb.

He absolutely refuses to. The only time he has ever come close was the time when Blue was a babybones and wanted to fingerpaint together and all his distal phalanges were stained a pukey lime from the combination of blue and yellow paint, and even he knows plants and paint don’t get along. He thinks. Again, that would probably require having a real green thumb.

Despite this, almost as soon as they reached the Surface, his bro gave him a succulent. It was just a dinky little thing, a jelly bean plant or Sedum rubrotinctum according to the internet, in a pot that could easily sit in the palm of his hand. 

“I thought it might help you,” Blue had said, settling the little thing into his hands. His smile, always so bright and cheerful, was slightly strained around the edges and the stars in his eyes were dulled with sadness. He didn’t say why he thought it would help Stretch, but they both knew.

Mostly out of guilt, Stretch had accepted the plant. Blue had bought this for him because he noticed he ‘wasn’t doing so well’ — as he always would delicately word the dumpster fire that was Stretch’s mental health — and was trying to take care of him. Even if Blue shouldn’t need to worry about him. Stretch is the older brother, Blue shouldn’t have to worry.

Blue was right, though. Silly as it is, having little Sebastian the Sedum has helped him. 

A lot.

During his darker days, knowing there was something he needed to do, something to care for… it helped. Gave him a reason to get up in the morning, if only to open the blinds so his succulent could get some sunlight. Yeah, little Sebastian is just a plant, but the idea of letting him die… Stretch just couldn’t. Especially not when Sebastian was a gift from Blue; his brother trusted him to take care of the plant.

Beyond that, it was a reminder of being on the Surface. Underground, plant life was so very limited and so very different from what all exists on the Surface. Sure, there were a few Surface plants, mostly in the Queen’s throne room, and there was what they managed to maintain through the help of magic, but Sebastian would’ve never survived down there. Succulents, so dependent on the sun, were something he never saw, especially not in Snowdin. 

Seeing Sebastian chilling out on his desk each morning when he wakes up is a blessing. It reminds him of where he is, and the future he has up here on the Surface.

Now, Stretch still denies any existence of a green thumb, even though he can admit that it probably looks like the biggest lie since he told Blue he would pick up his sock. And considering how that sock still sits in the living room — a fun souvenir for Blue since Stretch moved out — that means something.

At most windows in the house, there sits a row of tiny pots, each one boasting their own unique occupant. Recently, Edge installed half a dozen ceiling hooks to hang up a few of his spider plants. The most incriminating piece of evidence happens to reside in the front closet. There, Stretch keeps a bin of plant care supplies: a trowel, extra pots in a variety of sizes, a bag of dirt, some fertilizer and various fillers like pebbles, peat, and sand to adjust the soil according to a plant’s specific needs.

Edge, the shit that he is, bought him a baby name book once, claiming it was to help him with naming his future ‘plant children’ and where’s the lie there? At least it’s good to know that he has some support in his parenting endeavors, as sarcastic as Edge may be. Plus, leaving the book on the coffee table had the hilarious side effect of managing to give Red a heart attack despite him lacking the necessary organs. 

The only thing that could’ve made that afternoon better was if Stretch had gotten Red’s reaction on video, but eh, you win some, you lose some.

Busy spritzing the plants for today’s schedule, Stretch wanders around the house. Karl the evergreen needs to be watered pretty much daily, making him among the neediest of his babies. He is the biggest and the nicest smelling, though, so Stretch can deal with his extra divalike tendencies. Frowning, he looks aside to Alice the aloe. He had to transfer her into a bigger pot the other day, and she is still needing some extra tlc to help her settle. On the other hand, upon testing Sméagol the Gollum jade succulent’s soil — and sure, Golden flowers and Echo flowers may be straight to the point, but human plant names are so much more fun than monster ones — he can go a few more days before watering.

From across the house, Stretch hears the loud creak of the front door, which Edge refuses to let him oil for ‘security reasons’. The gentle clicking of Edge’s heeled boots comes to a predictable pause as he takes them off at the front mat.

“hey, babe,” he calls out absently, examining a new spiderette that is growing off of Webster. 

“Hello, love. I’m sorry for being late, but I have a surprise for you.”

Ooh!

Eagerly, Stretch sets down his spritzer bottle and hurries to see what his honey is up to. He hadn’t even clued into the time; what is time? But a surprise? Surprises from Edge tend to be a good thing, especially when he announces it like that.

The plants can wait!

Stretch nearly barrels Edge down, not expecting him to be calmly turning the corner into the living room. A small gift bag, gold and shiny, is neatly lifted out of the way, thank goodness; that would be a sucky way to ruin a surprise.

“Excited, aren’t we,” Edge teases.

Pausing for a kiss, Stretch says, “for you? always.” Yeah, that may be overly sappy, but how can he not be? Edge is home and he has a present!

“That’s good to hear, love.”

With that, he hands over the gift bag, allowing Stretch to rip into it. Inside, a plant sits, secured into place thanks to an abundance of tissue paper surrounding it. Gently, to avoid damaging any of the leaves, he plucks it out.

“oh!”

“It’s a campfire plant,” Edge says, nuzzling him affectionately. “It made me think of you.”

Stretch can understand why. 

The plant itself is fun and bright, a bold combination of yellowish-green near the stem which transforms to a fiery reddish-orange at the tips of the leaves. In the ray of sunlight bursting through the window, it practically glows, like a real fire.

More remarkable is the pot, which is oh so perfect and Stretch can’t wait to send a pic to his brother. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was told that Edge had custom ordered it, just for him. It isn’t every day, after all, that you find a novelty pot in the shape of a squeezie bear honey bottle.

“Do you like it?”

“like it?! i love it! if it weren’t for the fact that i’m holding it, i would kiss you senseless!”

“Well, then,” Edge says, a wonderful huskiness to his voice, “I suppose that’s just more incentive for us to find it a name and a home.”

Hell yeah, it is. And since Stretch already has the perfect spot in mind, that just brings him one step closer to being able to show Edge his appreciation.


	3. Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: homesickness, emotional hurt/comfort

With a ghastly whistle, steam rises from the tea kettle, not that Edge notices. He is too busy staring at the tin of Golden flower tea, his thoughts swirling as chaotically as his now boiled water even after having completed his morning run. Slowly, he opens the tin, the sweetly floral scent of the tea diffusing into the air around him.

It is so familiar, a perfume he could identify in his sleep.

But it isn’t the same.

Sometimes, late at night, Stretch confides in him. Limbs tangled under the covers, he rests his skull against Edge’s ribcage, shakily admitting hurts which are so frequently covered by a blithe grin, a casual slouch, and endless puns. Edge knows Stretch sometimes struggles with the differences between the different worlds. It can’t be easy, seeing a monster who looks to be someone he knows yet is almost the reverse in everything but appearance. Even walking by Muffet’s bakery, Edge can see the way his love’s face falls, surely missing the friendships of a time and place so far from reach.

Edge doesn’t blame Stretch in the slightest for those feelings. 

He just wishes that he couldn’t understand them so well himself.

For the life of him, Edge cannot explain _why_ he misses Underfell. He shouldn’t; this is his home now, and it is far better of a place. Here on the Surface, he hasn’t had to raise his LV by a single point. If things continue to work out so nicely for him, he will never need to feel the cost of freshly shed dust — or blood — on his hands ever again.

Here, his brother isn’t constantly at risk of being caught by the wrong people at the wrong moment; as stealthy and capable as he is, it only takes one time, one missed dodge. Red has been doing so much better in general. The Underground wasn’t good for either of them, but his gremlin of an older brother _thrives_ up here, rather than merely existing. 

Anyone in ~~his home~~ Underfell would kill for the chance to live in a place like this. A place with food for all, safety, the sun… Forget that; they already have killed for a chance like this, even when it wasn’t yet available for them. There is absolutely no reasonable excuse for Edge to miss his hellhole of an Underground, none whatsoever.

Yet… 

Golden flower tea was something he used to drink on a near-weekly basis. His Majesty, as awful of a tyrant as he was, always had a special supply for the higher-ups in his court. Most of the time, it was safe to drink, an extra ration to keep in store for when supplies in Snowdin were low. As soon as he was made Captain, Edge qualified for His Majesty’s monthly ‘gifts’. Before that, his brother probably could have received it, as Judge, but that’s another story. The tea allowed him to give just the slightest fraction more food to more deserving households. 

It wasn’t much, but something had to have been better than nothing.

As he grabs an infuser, a pang of bitter nostalgia hits. This was something he and Undyne — _his_ Undyne, not the softer one here — used to do together all the time. Disguised as official meetings between a captain and his commander, drinking tea together was an excuse for the odd moment of quiet.

Edge can remember the quiet strains of piano, such a complete juxtaposition to the everything that was Undyne. Music, a hidden luxury, was often the only way to settle her, especially when her LV would ride her hard. On those days, Edge would be in charge of the tea, letting his superior work out her frustrations at the keys. He learned early on the tricks to brewing a good pot of Golden flower tea.

The first thing, which he learned the hard way, is to make sure any infusers are properly sealed. _Especially_ when making individual cups rather than a pot. The next most important detail is to ensure that the water is just short of boiling — or that it has a few minutes to cool down if the kettle wasn’t taken off the heat fast enough. Out of all the steps, Undyne always did have the most difficulty with that one. Finally, the tea itself should steep for roughly five minutes, depending on how much was used and how strong a particular batch was to begin with.

These days, the steps are automatic, mastered after many years of practice.

As soon as the tea was done, he and Undyne would move to her table. On the good days, they would split an energy bar. Undyne always dunked her half into her tea, fucking disgusting. Then again, it couldn’t be worse than the energy bars by themselves, so she might have been onto something. 

Usually, they would sit in peaceful silence; after a long day of trying to maintain order in the Underground, that was something they both needed. There were other days, though, when Undyne would open up to him. Edge relished in those times in which she would excitedly reveal her growing feelings for the mad scientist in Hotland, shouting about the newest ‘human history series’ Doctor Alphys had shared with her — for a price, of course. In return, Edge used to tease her about all the blackmail material she was giving him. Both of them knew he would never betray her like that, after all.

But why does it feel like such a betrayal to be on the Surface, making Golden flower tea along with a filling breakfast Undyne would have loved, without her?

Ruthlessly, Edge forces himself to shove those emotions away; dwelling on the past won’t do him any good. It works. 

For the most part.

“edge?” calls Stretch, from the staircase if Edge can pinpoint his voice properly. He can hear the sleepiness in his voice, the slight grinding of bone on bone as he likely rubs at his sockets.

There is no enticing aroma of freshly roasted coffee in the air, and Stretch may have many Sansy ways, but he is still a Papyrus — and a Judge at that. As tired as he may be, he should easily be able to puzzle what the tin of golden flower tea in Edge’s hands means.

Distantly, there is the muted pop of a shortcut. That is the only reason why Edge doesn’t flinch when there are suddenly arms hugging him from behind.

“are you okay?” Stretch asks. His words are slurred together in his barely awake state, blurry in everything but his genuine concern for him.

Sighing, Edge gradually leans back into his lover’s touch. Due to his slimmer bones and comfortable posture, it is so easy to forget that Stretch is the taller one. The older one. How is it that he only remembers at times like this, when he has to rely on him as an anchor?

Before answering, Edge considers Stretch’s question. “I’ll be fine,” he decides, drawing the words out slowly. Stretch nods, resting his chin on Edge’s shoulder, a comforting weight. Perhaps, he can sense the words which Edge is thinking, but doesn’t say.

_I’ll be fine. As long as I’m with you._


	4. Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: depression/mental health issues as viewed from an outside perspective, emotional hurt/comfort

Edge doesn’t know what to do.

It has been a series of bad days for Stretch, with today being easily the worst one. The rest of the week, Edge could see his love was struggling; that was obvious. Even with them being separated during the majority of the day due to their jobs, the limited time they spent together showed a marked difference in Stretch’s mood. When Edge would ask him about his day, there was no delighted sparkle in his eye lights, no eager rambling. Hell, there wasn’t even annoyed venting at something that had gone wrong or awful puns made in an attempt to derail him. Just silence. Stretch was simply going through the works, and barely at that.

But today… 

Balancing his tray in one hand, Edge knocks softly on the bedroom door. With it being the weekend, he knows for a fact that Stretch hasn’t left their room. Even his plants haven’t been enough to help him get up out of bed today, which was really one of the biggest signs that something is wrong. In the past, Edge has had to usher him — deliriously feverish and barely able to stand in his sickened state — back to bed because he was so insistent to make sure all his plant babies got the care they needed.

Of course, Edge took that duty upon himself today. Nothing would have happened to the plants, not in a period of twenty-four hours, but he knows his love would only beat himself up if something somehow did happen, if one wasn’t properly watered or rotated to get an appropriate amount of sunshine.

He may not know how to help Stretch, but that is the least he can do.

“Love?” he asks, struggling to find a balance between gentling his typically harsh voice and remaining loud enough to be heard. “May I come in?”

No response.

Edge remains outside, looking between the tray and the closed door. In the background of his mind, he can all but hear his Undyne’s raucous laughter: Captain Papyrus, strategist extraordinaire, hesitating in the face of whether or not he should enter his own damned bedroom. 

However, it isn’t that simple.

As much as he may want to take over — to make everything okay — Stretch still has boundaries. Like it or not, respecting those boundaries has to come first.

Yet… 

Promising himself that he will leave instantly should Stretch ask him to — or even if he shows the slightest bit of discomfort about his presence — Edge ends up opening the door, just a smidge, with the plan of setting the food inside. Stretch is rarely hungry during his episodes; the ability to have an appetite seems to disappear when his depression is in full swing. But maybe, _hopefully_ , if there is food and drink within arm’s reach, he will at least give eating a try.

The room is dark. So dark, in fact, that Edge finds himself adjusting his eye lights accordingly. The urge to open the curtains is a struggle to resist. Yes, some light would probably be good for Stretch’s mental health, but doing so without his permission… he can’t.

An onlooker could easily assume that Stretch is just napping, with the way he has curled up into a lump under all the blankets. 

However, Edge knows better. Stretch likes to have his head uncovered when he sleeps, at least one limb always partially exposed to help regulate his body temperature. During the daytime, unless the room is exceptionally cold, his love sprawls out in his sleep, his lanky form managing to spread out to cover as much surface area as physically possible. On the bed and the couch, it is endearing; it always amazes Edge how a skeleton can look so positively boneless as he drools in his sleep. When Stretch decides to nap in other, less conventional locations… Edge would still call it endearing, although that might just be his biased opinion. Plus, after the brief moment of concern, there is always an element of amusement, coming home to find Stretch taking up their entire front closet, using a pile of shoes in lieu of a mattress.

Now, curled tightly into a ball, there isn’t a single sliver of bone visible under the layers of blankets. The only sign that Stretch is truly there and that it isn’t, in fact, a mere mess of bedding, is the slight rattling of bones that accompanies each laboured breath.

The sight of it brings an all too familiar ache to Edge’s soul. What he would do to lessen his love’s pain… 

Edge sets the tray down on the side table. Before leaving, he pauses beside the bed.

“Is there anything you would like me to do?” Very carefully, he makes sure that he doesn’t ask Stretch if there is anything he _needs_ him to do. As much as Edge would gladly do anything to fulfill his needs, he knows Stretch too well. The chances of him convincing himself not to ask for something because he considers it a want rather than a necessity… it’s too high. By wording it this way, hopefully Stretch will feel more comfortable making his wishes known.

A pause. Edge has already started to walk out of the room, preparing a request to let him know if anything changes, when a watery voice shakily asks, “stay?” 

Edge nods, a lump forming in his throat. Belatedly, he realises he has left Stretch hanging, considering he cannot currently see his face. “Of course,” he says, proud of Stretch for being able to request that and of his voice for remaining so steady. “Just give me a moment.”

As quickly as possible, Edge strips down into a comfier outfit, closing the door even as he leaves his old clothes on the floor; he can wait to place them in the hamper. The sooner he can be there for Stretch, the better.

Wearing his softest set of pyjamas, Edge climbs onto the bed, leaving some space between him and Stretch. At first, Stretch doesn’t react. Then, ever so slowly, he unfurls himself. 

It starts with an arm, exposing itself to reach for Edge’s hand. His head follows, just barely peeking out. Seeing the lack of tear tracks running down his cheeks, Edge doesn’t know how to feel. On one hand, there is a sense of selfish relief that Stretch hasn’t spent the day crying; the only time he ever wants to see tears from Stretch is because he is laughing too hard. But on the other hand, he doesn’t want him to bottle up his feelings, he doesn’t want his love to have reached a point of numbness in which he can’t release his emotions in that way.

Soon enough, Stretch frees himself from the confines of his blankets, inching his way closer to Edge. He cannot help but blink in surprise, however, when his love grasps him around the waist, arms tight and skull resting on his lap; he was anticipating to be the one doing the holding. 

He doesn’t fight it, though. Anything for Stretch, anything he needs. If this helps, even the slightest bit, Edge will gladly let him hold him close all night long.

Minutes pass, the only sound in the room being their shared breathing. Every so often, that breathing hiccups on Stretch’s end, barely noticeable if it weren’t always followed by a tightening of his embrace.

Out of nowhere, a concept comes to Edge’s mind. To be honest, he has never thought much about it. He had never heard of such a thing before coming to this world; something like this would have never been said in Underfell. But here, he has heard more than once — from humans, mostly — about how kisses can ‘make it feel better’. It could be fake, some kind of placebo effect. 

But, on the off-chance that the principle could hold true, why not give it a try?

“Stretch?” He opens his eye sockets, which Edge takes as enough of a response to quietly ask, “May I kiss you?”

Stretch nods the slightest bit, the movement causing the flannel of Edge’s pyjama pants to wrinkle and his soul to lighten marginally.

Bending down, he starts by delivering a gentle kiss to Stretch’s forehead. The bone is warm to the touch, but not concerningly so. Especially when he takes into account the amount of time that beautiful skull was hidden under a stack of blankets. “I love you so much,” Edge whispers.

He suppresses a frown when this normal statement causes Stretch to shudder, squinching his eyes shut. 

“Are you okay?”

Another nod, more definite this time. “can... can you keep going?”

Ah, a good thing, then. “Absolutely, my love,” Edge assures him, pressing another kiss just behind Stretch’s coronal suture. 

Peppering Stretch with kiss after kiss and comforting word after comforting word is a mission Edge could never complain about. About a dozen of these sweet reminders in, Stretch’s eyes begin to flutter close, his expression more peaceful. He is still curled around Edge, but there is less of that desperation for grounding in his touch as the simple desire to remain close.

Stretch may not be one hundred percent okay, but he is at least doing better than he was earlier.

Finally, Stretch falls asleep. Edge smiles down at the bed, seeing the way one of his legs is practically hanging off the bed. He places one last kiss on his forehead before lying down himself.

“Sleep well, my love.”


	5. Waking Up Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: pure fluff

Waking up is a gradual process for Stretch this morning, but not a bad one.

Sunlight filters through the bedroom curtains, soft beams of warmth falling across his body. Blinking owlishly, he is pleased to find out that the light isn’t the slightest bit blinding; rather, it is the nice Surface morning kind of light, which is soft enough for him to nap in. Even better, though, is the dawning moment of realisation that there are still limbs wrapped up around him — gorgeously warm and comfortable. 

Stretch can already tell that it’s gonna be a good day. How could it not be when he’s got a cuddly Edge octopus keeping him nice and close?

In absolutely no rush to leave, Stretch turns his head to look at Edge. Already awake, he gives Stretch a tender smile. Warm fuzzies rise up in his soul, knowing that he is one of the only people who will ever see that expression on his tough boyfriend’s face.

“Good morning, love,” Edge murmurs, his husky voice sleep-softened. He tilts his chin up, meeting Stretch halfway for an almost-kiss. More of a nuzzle, really. Either way, it’s nice.

“mornin’,” Stretch yawns, flipping around in Edge’s arms to face him completely; the last thing he wants is to give himself a crick in the neck from kissing. He then snuggles in closer. Being pressed chest to chest with Edge sounds like an A+ plan, which is confirmed the second he implements it.

“Did you sleep well?”

Well, here’s a good chance to max up his sap points if he’s ever seen one. Gotta level up their mutual schmoopiness score, after all. “of course! with you, i always sleep well.” Edge’s smile grows at the comment, and unless Stretch’s eye lights are messing with him, the slightest hint of colour appears on those glass cutting cheekbones of his.

Jackpot.

Like Stretch won't be able to see past it, Edge says, “Good to hear that, you sweet talker,” His voice impressively dry considering the early hour. 

Then again, his edgelord is always on top of his snark game, always at the top of his form no matter the hour. It would be nice if he could share some of the wits, maybe a pinch of the energy, but eh, Stretch can handle going without it. It would probably unbalance the universe or some shit if they both were able to Energizer Bunny go go go all day long. Or would it be an Energizer Camel, because of the dryness factor? Camels have pretty good endurance, and their ability to store water should mean that they would be well suited to dealing with the whole dehydrating levels of snark thing.

Yeah, Stretch is still too sleepy for this shit.

But he _is_ awake enough to ask, “i know you are, but what am i?”

Edge blinks, looking absolutely baffled. Swallowing a snort, Stretch just grins up as Edge says, “That context doesn’t even… nevermind.” He shakes his head, then continues, “Do you have any thoughts for breakfast?”

“how ‘bout you?”

Edge scoffs, but Stretch doesn’t miss the spark of interest in his eye lights even as he says, “I’m talking about _food_.”

“yeah, so am i.” He runs a hand down Edge’s spine, resting it on his iliac crest. “didn’t you know you’re a snack, edgelord?”

This earns an eye roll and scritch to his coronal suture. “I take it that’s a hint we should stay here a little longer, then?”

“nice puzzling skills, babe.”

“I try,” he agrees, continuing to give the same relaxing touch. And yeah, Stretch might have been implying something a little different than this tender moment, but he sure as hell isn’t complaining. Nope, never never never.

It doesn’t take long for Stretch to start drowsing off again. He wasn’t one hundred percent awake anyways — maybe seventy-seven percent at best. No matter the percent, he just goes with the flow. Maybe he will manage to stay awake to return some of the cuddles, maybe he will go back to snoozy town, then wake up in a bit and get to repeat this great experience, perhaps continue on to those sweet, sweet implications of what to have for breakfast. Who knows?

Whatever the case may be, as long as he is with Edge, he’s sure it will be worth it.


	6. Job Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: emotional hurt/comfort

Edge receives the email while he is at work.

At first, he doesn’t think anything of a new message from Asgore. The king tends to send him — or more accurately, tends to have his personal secretary send him — a lot of things related to security, even if it doesn’t strictly fall under the traditional parameters of his responsibilities.

This time, though, he is so very thankful for it.

Phoning Stretch isn’t something Edge thinks of. Rather, it is an automatic process, his fingers dialling even as he rereads through the email’s contents. He carefully scans his screen, dimmed with a coloured filter to help prevent migraines.

“hey babe, what’s up?” Stretch answers cheerfully. Edge cannot detect any concern over the fact that he is calling in the middle of the afternoon when he should be working; it’s one thing to talk during his lunch break like they did today, but it’s another for him to abandon his duties for a personal call.

Because of this, Edge forces himself to keep his voice calm. Straight to the point, he asks, “Have you checked your email this afternoon?”

“yeah?”

He still sounds too relaxed, which is what prompts Edge to specify, “In the past hour or so?”

“nooooo... why?”

Tone gravely serious, he says, “You should check, love.”

“okay, yeah. just let me open up my laptop real quick.”

“Of course.”

A vicious spike of worry pierces through Edge. He still cannot parse any suspicion in Stretch’s voice, which means he is likely going into this blind. Which, he might add, is a problem. 

His love is so bright, but Edge knows that this news…

He would tell him himself, but it’s probably for the best that Stretch reads the whole thing.

“alrighty, here we are— ” Stretch’s voice breaks off, and he knows his inbox just loaded with the subject line: Urgent - Judgement. “oh.”

There is a moment of silence. An indistinct click, which Edge assumes means that Stretch has opened the email. On his own computer, he looks at the contents another time.

Displayed in all of its awful glory is a slightly blurry photo of a formal summons letter — the king has been known to struggle, sometimes, with knowing how to implement technology. The wording, all too familiar to Edge from back in his days as Captain, requests Stretch to come forward to Judge someone.

“I just received the news myself,” he explains in the same tone that he had once used to inform Snowdin citizens that their loved ones had been dusted. “Sans, he is still gone on vacation with his brother. Apparently, the situation is urgent.”

“okay. okay.”

Edge can’t help but raise a sceptical brow. Out of all the responses he was expecting, ‘okay’ certainly wasn’t one of them. It’s rather disquieting. “ _Is_ it okay?” 

A pause. “sorry,” Stretch says, slightly absently, “i’m just reading through it.”

“Of course.”

It is difficult to hear and ever so faint, but Edge is certain Stretch’s breathing is picking up. The whole scene is all too easy to picture. 

Stretch is sitting, although where, exactly, Edge isn’t quite sure. It could honestly be anywhere. As far as Stretch is concerned, the whole world is his office, even if there’s often less than official happenings occurring when he has his laptop out. The couch, the table, their bed, the back deck… the only requirement is that there is an outlet for his charger, and even that tends to be optional thanks to the laptop’s long-lasting battery. There is a reason Stretch had been on the hunt for a limited edition Mew Mew Kissy Cutie figurine for months, after all; Alphys’ upgrade work is top of the line.

In his mind’s eye, Stretch looks so emotionally fragile, like the slightest breeze of unkindness could shatter him into a million pieces. It is the kind of expression which begs for Edge to take him into his arms. Something he cannot do now, not when he is half a city away.

Something he so desperately wishes he could do.

Stretch hates Judging. Edge knows this, he knows this all too well. There is a reason Judging has been left to Sans, despite Stretch and Red being just as capable, and it’s not simply because Sans has jurisdictional precedence in this world. The association, the memories… nothing good comes from them.

Saving his work before shutting down his computer, Edge promises, “I’ll be home right away.” He hates to do this, but he will talk to Undyne. She should understand, and not just because of insight gained from her friendship with Papyrus. 

Loved ones and their mental health come first.

“no, you don’t have to do that. it’s fine.”

Even if he didn’t hear the near crack in Stretch’s voice, Edge wouldn’t be convinced. He may not have a Judge’s talent to read body language — not that it does much good over the phone — but if there is one thing he has gotten good at, it’s listening to his boyfriend and connecting the pieces to what he doesn’t say.

Stretch continues trying to assure him of his fineness. Edge continues not to believe him. It could hurt, the knowledge that Stretch is purposefully lying to close himself off. Emphasis on _could_. However, part of him wonders if his love is trying to deceive himself more than Edge.

Finally, the litany comes to an end. “sorry for bugging you and making you call me,” Stretch concludes.

“It’s not a bother,” Edge says. Stretch may occasionally be _bothersome_ , with his (adorably) bratty tendencies, but he is _never_ a bother. Never. “I’ll see you soon, love.”

“yeah. see you.” Then, he hangs up.

Without delay, Edge grabs the rest of his things. Making his way to Undyne’s office, his thoughts are preoccupied with going through takeout options on his phone. He personally won’t be able to stand it, but it might help Stretch right now. His love deserves all the comforting he needs, and comfort food is one way of doing that. Plus, ordering in has the benefit of giving him more time to devote to Stretch, time that wouldn’t be had should he need to make dinner.

His options to provide comfort are limited, after all. There is no way to get rid of the dilemma; after scanning the documents provided regarding the one who is to be Judged, he has to agree with Asgore’s decision. He doesn’t like it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t think that a rapid Judgement is the best option in this scenario.

A second before he can knock on Undyne’s door, his cell phone rings. When he sees who the caller is, he answers without delay.

“hey, babe,” Stretch says. His voice is watery, like he had been crying in the few short minutes between phone calls. If Edge was a betting man, he would say the anxious, emotional panic hadn’t truly set in until about ninety seconds after hanging up from their last call.

“Hello, love.” barely, he resists the urge to ask how he is doing. Either Stretch will lie and try to downplay his feelings, or he will be honest and Edge will be able to think of nothing else while he is driving home, which would be a problem for obvious reasons

“sorry for calling again, but i was wondering… can you…”

Without hesitation, Edge says, “Yes.” Whatever Stretch wants, whatever he needs, whatever will bring peace to his lover’s soul, even if he isn’t there to see it.

Still, he asks, “can you be there, when i do the judgement?” Edge stares blankly at the door, taking in how the plaque with Undyne’s name could really use some polishing as Stretch clarifies in a rush, “you can’t come and witness it, i know that, but i think i don’t want to go there alone, don’t wanna have to leave by myself.”

Through those two sentences, Edge went through an emotional and intellectual rollercoaster. But, in his opinion, Stretch brought it to an end with a good conclusion.

It isn’t as though Edge’s physical presence would do Stretch any good in the moment. Even if observers were permitted, he would be too much of a distraction — and a source of pain. With his LV, it is possible that being in the same room could cause Judgement to fall on him instead and he can’t do that to Stretch. He hates thinking about Edge’s LV, especially in summing it up to the weight of his sins. These days, _he_ may know that Edge’s actions were a necessity, but at the end of the day, Edge has dust on his hands.

However, bringing him there and taking him home, standing outside with a set of open arms… that he can do. That way, he can help.

“Yes, love. Of course I can do that.”

If this is what Stretch wants, he will get it and more as long as Edge is around.

That is a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, I will learn that someone calling to ask if I've checked my email is never a good thing. That day, apparently, wasn't yesterday.


	7. Washing Dishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some mild sexy times ahead.

“ugh,” Stretch grimaces. Dropping his sponge, he pushes up his now damp sleeves for what must have been at least the tenth time today alone.

Why does this always happen? No matter how much he rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, there is something about blechy dishwater that just acts like a super magnet to them.

Yeah, they have a dishwasher. But, Edge can be fussy about certain things, and apparently, certain items aren’t dishwasher safe anyways, so there’s always something in the sink that needs to be dealt with. And since Edge always works so damn hard to make absolutely delicious food each meal, it’s only fair that Stretch does his share by scrubbing the dishes until they’re up to Edge’s standards.

At first, Edge had been thrown off by this. Stretch had all but turned his soul blue to yank him away from the sudsy water. He may be a self-acclaimed lazybones, but even a lazybones can choose to contribute. Again, it’s only fair, an argument he had to make several times. These days, though, it’s a normal part of life: the sky is blue, the grass is green, Edge cooks, Stretch deals with the dishes.

Speaking of Edge, the steady jingle jangle of chains on those tight, _tight_ jeans of his announces his entry into the kitchen. Stretch closes his eyes, picturing the way those hips sway with each sauntered step, the strong, sexy bone revealed in the space between the waist of his pants and the hem of his shirt. It’s a good picture. 

A _very_ good picture.

Normally, as soon as he gets home, Edge changes into something stylish, but comfortable. No stained comfort shorts and t-shirts for him, nope nope nope. Even on the rare sick day, Edge’s clothes are to impress.

Now, he doesn’t exactly understand how jeans that tight can possibly be comfortable, but Stretch sure as hell isn’t complaining; he may not put too much effort into his own appearance, but he can appreciate that effort on someone else. Especially if that someone else is Edge.

“Need some help, love?”

Stretch glares at the casserole tin he is struggling to clean — whatever that sauce is, it’s really stuck on there. Setting it back down in the water to soak some more, he says, “i’m good, but thanks.”

In response, Edge hums contentedly. A pair of hands wrap around Stretch from behind, running down the front of his hoodie before settling into his pocket. Alrighty then. Somebody’s in a mood. Stretch swallows with a dry click as the rest of Edge’s body presses close, a warm weight against his back. His sweetheart is always so wonderfully warm, like his own personal bony blanket of affectionate cuddles. 

But that isn’t the only reason why Stretch is starting to get a bit hot.

“Are you sure, love? I’m sure I could help out.” This statement is punctuated by those hands — still resting in his pocket — reaching downwards, brushing lightly against his pubis through layers of fabric. “I’d be fine with you getting me wet.” Another brush, more teasing than before. “So to speak.”

Oh boy, if his libido wasn’t already up and rearing, hearing Edge make a sexy pun, completely unprovoked…

Oh boy.

Now, Stretch’s initial response is to pun back at him. Perhaps something about being willing to lather Edge up any time, because soap, or maybe a comment about how after they get dirty, they can clean each other right up. 

The point is, he had a plan, which fails the moment he tries to speak and manages nothing but a garbled attempt at words. His voice is all too rough, and he can feel Edge grinning against the back of his skull.

“Is that so?” he whispers, a ticklish puff of breath traveling down to Stretch’s cervical vertebrae. Stretch shivers as Edge nips playfully at those oh so _sensitive_ bones.

Smooth little shit.

Once more, he tries to respond, but any words burst away from his brain like bubbles in the sink. Instinctively, he tilts his head to give Edge better access and takes his hands out of the sink. He has no desire for this to be interrupted, thank you very much, so he doesn’t want to risk his hands accidentally hitting a knife.

Somehow, Stretch has a feeling that emergency first aid might be just a teensy bit of a mood killer.

Without ceasing in his kisses, Edge uses his hold on Stretch to guide him away from the sink. Stretch is barely able to pause and dry his hands on a tea towel before they end up on the living room couch, Edge removing his hands from the hoodie pocket to turn around and eagerly straddle Stretch’s lap instead. 

Distantly, in the back of his mind, Stretch thinks about how he will have to return and finish the dishes later. But, with Edge’s mouth on his hands already working on shedding their clothes… well, needless to say, Stretch can’t really bring himself to care.

The casserole tin needed to soak anyways.


	8. Pets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language, fluff

Stretch deserves a good pat on the back, please and thank you.

Angel knows it was a struggle to even make this little adventure a reality. To say that at first Edge was reluctant to go to their local animal shelter would be an understatement. Not because of the fundraiser, hell no. If anything, Stretch doubts that he would have been able to convince him if it wasn’t for a good cause. Rather, it has to do with the fact that his beloved boyfriend is a completely obsessive workaholic who will do any-fucking-thing to make sure Stretch is as hunky-dory as it gets in the mental health department while ignoring his own completely.

And yeah, that may or may not be a bit of a sore spot.

The point is, after the proper amount of lying on the living room carpet and wheedling at Edge to come, he finally agreed; Stretch never pretended to be above childish tactics. If it works, it works, and watching Edge from across the cat playroom, he can confidently say that it worked like a charm.

Stretch knows about Doomfanger. Sure, Edge never really mentions his beloved pet from his Underfell days, but get some alcohol or weed into Red’s system and the goblin will talk. Granted, most of Red’s stories about the ‘fuckin’ hell beast’ were more gripes than fun stories. Big, mean and ugly, according to Red, the cat seemed to shed on all of his shit just to spite him. Honestly, Stretch couldn’t blame Doomfanger if he did; goodness knows Red deserves it sometimes.

Just before he was out of stripes, Edge had apparently found him half-drowned in the Dump as a kitten. Never one to ignore someone in need of help, even as a child, he had taken the newly dubbed Doomfanger home. Red, of course, had been less than pleased.

“hard ‘nough to find food fer me an’ the boss, y’know?” Stretch remembers him saying one night. “last thing we needed was a fuckin’ fuzzball.”

Regardless, Edge took care of Doomfanger for years. This is where factual knowledge starts to blend with Stretch’s imagination. He knows his baby so well, he can easily picture some of the things that might have happened.

Stretch can picture Edge, then an angsty teen going by Papyrus, stomping around in torn jeans, heeled boots he found in the Dump and sharpied eyeliner, dragging Doomfanger on walks through the Snowdin forest. After he would come home, he would have to find a way to dry off an extra grumpy cat. Probably, he spoiled Doomfanger for behaving with the tenderness of a crazy cat lady.

Then, there’s the idea of tough and intimidating Captain Papyrus the Great and Terrible, waking up extra early to remove any and all traces of cat hair from his person before going on patrol. Coming home at night, a big fluff of a beast would lie curled around his shoulders like a purring boa as Edge made supper. When food supplies were secure, Stretch can imagine him sneaking Doomfanger a piece of meat, although he would deny it completely. 

Anyone in Underfell would see him as a Bond villain, cat and all. Yet, that picture is nothing compared to the secret sweetheart of a skeleton that Stretch is watching in delight right now.

Thanks to the early hour, there aren’t many people at the fundraiser yet. As a result, he, Edge and a pair of staff are the only ones in the cat room. And damn, does his fierce sweetie ever have a talent for finding every cat in the shelter — or should he say that all the cats have a talent for finding him? Around the room, there are enticing items like catnip-filled toys and brightly coloured jingly mice. 

Yet, these are all ignored in favour of Edge, the cat whisperer.

Truly in his element, Edge sits in the middle of it all. Cooing gravely at the smallest of kittens and delivering sweet pets to the biggest and grumpiest of elderly felines, he is in the spotlight. Right now, a calico and a ginger cat are curled up in his lap, purring up a storm. In a word, it’s fucking adorable.

Stretch, on the other hand, is happier watching from a distance.

Cats aren’t… they aren’t really his thing. Sure, he can laugh at dumb cat videos as much as anyone else, but actually _owning_ one as a pet… no thanks. Not his cup of tea.

Sitting on a plastic folding chair by the animal shelter’s snack table and watching, though? That’s definitely his jive. Some of the sugar cookies are even shaped like bones; how could he not grab some of those. Plus, this allows him the chance to sip away at some overly strong coffee with enough sugar packets to turn it into sludge and sneak pictures of Edge. He is about due for a new lock screen. Edge in the centre of a cuddly kitty pile seems like a decent contender.

“Love, come here?” Edge gazes up at him, not bothering to hide the wide smile on his face or his delighted tone despite the staff members’ presence. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

“okey dokey.” Seeing that happiness and lack of stress, the way Edge is uncaring of all the cat fur clinging to his pure black outfit, how could Stretch resist? Curious as to what his edgelord has in store, he sets down his styrofoam cup and wanders over.

“Look,” Edge whispers, inclining his head to the side. 

Following his direction, Stretch sees a little marshmallow of a kitten. All puffed up fur, it wiggles its tiny butt as it stares Edge down. Quick as lightning, it pounces forward — and misses. Instead of landing on Edge’s leg, as Stretch is pretty sure was the goal, the poor little thing landed at least three inches short, looking up with a bewildered mewl. Somehow, the kitten managed to land in one of the few cat-less spaces close to him. Thank goodness. Although, it probably would’ve been amusing if it had landed on another cat.

Scooping up the kitten onto his leg, Edge murmurs, “There you go, you little rascal. You still need to work on calculating the distance of your target, don’t you?”

Oh stars! Stretch doesn’t know what’s cuter: Edge’s baby talking or the so-called little rascal trying to climb its way up Edge’s shirt? Good thing the edgelord decided on a dark flannel this morning rather than some kind of wool sweater or fancy leather jacket. If that isn’t a good video opportunity, what is?

Slowly, more visitors begin to trickle in. It sucks for Stretch; with each new person, Edge becomes more and more guarded. However, this is a fundraiser for the shelter, so he can’t let himself become too disappointed. Just a little disappointment will have to do.

Hand in hand, they head to the car, leaving one more donation at the front desk. Even if he doesn’t show it, Stretch can tell this is still the happiest Edge has been in weeks. That’s why he snatches an event flyer as they go, to keep for later.

Stretch may not be a cat person. He may not be ready for the full-time commitment of owning _any_ pet, to be completely truthful. But, if getting to spend time playing with cats every once in a while can boost his sweetie’s mood, he sure as hell is going make sure he gets to play with as many cats as his soul desires.

And that’s a promise.


	9. Hugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: pure fluff

Edge needs a hug.

It is more than a simple want. It’s something deeper than that, something almost primal. The feeling is instinctive as the need to eat after days without food. And that is a feeling Edge remembers all too well.

Off the top of his head, he cannot pinpoint any particular reason why he needs a hug. It isn’t as though he is lacking in that department. Today alone, he has received at least half a dozen hugs from Stretch, and that doesn’t include other tidbits of love such as kisses and nuzzles. Edge simply craves that kind of touch.

Staring down at the row of ingredients lined up on the counter, he faces a difficult decision.

On one hand, he has steaks to finish marinating. Supper is soon approaching, after all, and he doesn’t have anything else prepared. Plus, it isn’t like he can simply put the meat back in the freezer. It has already been thawed, taken out yesterday afternoon to do so.

On the other hand, Stretch is somewhere in the house, ready to be hunted down. He is always more than delighted to partake in Edge’s fancies. Therefore, this shouldn’t be a problem. 

Hopefully. 

Most of the time, he wouldn’t hesitate in this decision. A simple hug doesn’t take long. Edge could go, get his hug and then be back on his merry way. Most of the time. Today, however, he can tell that simply won’t be the case. He wants to be close to Stretch, to hold him where he can feel the pure beauty of his soul next to his own stained one. Leaving will be a struggle, regardless of his responsibilities.

Impulsively, he covers the tray and shoves it in the fridge. The steaks can be for tomorrow; that just gives them more time to soak in the flavour. More importantly, dropping his preparations gives Edge more time with Stretch.

Washing his hands before putting on a fresh pair of gloves, Edge can’t help but think about how lucky he is to have Stretch. So, so very lucky.

Growing up, there weren’t many times he was able to enjoy this type of thing. Red has never been a touchy monster. As a child, this limited the times he received physical affection; there wasn’t exactly anyone else he could safely go to, unless he was to include Doomfanger. He never minded. If it meant making his older brother more comfortable, he would gladly forego such things. Besides, it meant that every hug from Red was so much more memorable.

Stretch, though, he lets Edge indulge in these things. Each night, he is more than willing to curl up with him, from his cold feet all the way to his head resting against Edge’s ribcage. In the morning, Stretch will cling sleepily to his pyjama shirt, murmuring grumpily as soon as Edge tries to get up. It’s sweet, the way he can look forward to this day in and day out.

Yet, he is always so understanding on those days when Edge can’t deal with it all. On those days where he is too concerned about whether or not he can gentle himself enough to be safe, Stretch doesn’t push. He never pushes. 

What did he ever do to deserve Stretch?

Finding Stretch is an easy task. Sitting upside down on the couch, his mismatched socked feet kick gently against the wall. That should be infuriating. So why does it only make Edge want to rush to be by his side sooner? He scrolls through his phone, humming some kind of nonsense melody. As far as Edge can tell, his love is none the wiser to his presence.

Wordlessly, he crosses the room to sit beside him. Leaning down, he starts pulling Stretch into an embrace. In the process of rearranging him, Edge accidentally gets kicked in the spine, but such are the risks of dealing with a squirming Stretch.

It’s so very worth it, though.

“hey babe,” Stretch says, leaning accommodatingly into the hug. “what’s the occasion?”

Before answering, he pauses to breathe in Stretch’s scent from his hoodie. The subtle sweetness of his magic mingles with the smell of his cigarette smoke in a unique combination he has grown to adore. Only then does he ask, “Do I need one?”

Grinning, he shifts to rest his chin on Edge’s shoulder. “nah. spontaneity’s where it’s at.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Any dryness in his tone is perfunctory at best, undermined by his actions.

True to his earlier suspicions, what was supposed to be a quick hug rapidly shifts into a soft moment of cuddles. With nothing in the background but the faint hum of the living room lights, all of Edge’s concentration is on Stretch, on their sweet affection without a need for escalation. His vision is engulfed by warmth, from the fiery bright orange of Stretch’s hoodie to the warm expression of pure love held in his eye lights.

And, with nothing else pressing at the moment, all Edge can do is hold on tighter and bask in it all.


	10. Forgetting Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: description of migraine symptoms, comfort

Today is clearly one of those days in which Stretch would forget his own damn head if it weren’t securely attached to his cervical vertebrae.

Pacing in that way he does only when something is escaping his brilliant mind, a small furrow has formed between his brow bones. The overly sentimental part of Edge wants to kiss it smooth. Stretch’s right hand spins lightly on his wrist, as though swirling the air around him will cause the thought to be lifted up. Even in the dark of the living room, it is obvious to Edge that his love is forgetting _something_ , even if he has no clue what that something could be.

Not that Edge can be much help in figuring that out right now. Well into the throes of migraine season, his ability to think is clouded at best.

That would easily have to be the worst part about living on the Surface. Something about the changes in atmosphere or weather just acts as a catalyst for days — or as the case is currently, _weeks_ — of agony. Underfell at least had that much good going for it: the environment itself had no impact on his headaches. Yes, he still had his fair share of migraines, but it was nothing compared to this. 

It’s infuriating, the constant fog which only gets mushier when he breaks down to take some meds to reduce some of the pain. Lacking his normal clarity causes problems. These problems may no longer be as severe — his life likely won’t be on the line if his thinking isn’t razor-sharp — but trouble is trouble. 

And right now, not being able to help Stretch counts as a problem as far as he is concerned.

Stretch has already done so much to help Edge today, even if he wouldn’t readily admit it. He was the one, after all, who convinced him to take the day off to recover a bit before things get worse. Meaning, of course, that he had called in to work without Edge’s knowledge while he was in the shower.

At the moment, Edge was more than a little irked. He has so much to do, and all his work will only pile up because of this. Sitting around all day doing nothing, migraine or not, is not his idea of a good time. His love knows this, yet he deliberately went behind his back to make that a reality. 

And to think that Edge had once thought Stretch had no drive. What a falsehood that was.

After a few hours, though, he had to admit, if only to himself, that Stretch might have been right. How could he have ever thought to complain when his love was being so thoughtful? Everything has been set up to perfection. The only light in the house comes from their eye lights. He even organised things so that Edge can rest comfortably in the living room, which at least helps him pretend he is a bit more functional than his body allows. 

It certainly is nicer than those days where he would have to give up and set up camp in the bathroom. Oftentimes, it is the darkest, quietest and most scent-free room in the house, making it the ideal hiding spot. Although, there are undoubtedly downsides. Never will he ever forget the time he had to explain to Asgore why he was sitting beside a toilet during their emergency conference call.

Speaking of forgetting things, Stretch is still wandering around like a lost puppy, hands flashing as he tries to — silently — work his way through his mental process.

“shit!” he hisses under his breath, causing Edge to wince. Wide-eyed in apology, Stretch claps a hand over his mouth and scurries out towards the kitchen.

Okay, Stretch absolutely made the right call in making Edge stay home today. If he is reacting that badly to something nearly imperceptible from all across the room, dealing with those awful, blue-toned fluorescent lights and loud coworkers might have resulted in someone getting stabbed out of a mistaken attempt at self-defense.

Rubbing his hands down his skull, he tries to massage away the pain. Around his damaged socket it pulses the strongest, a sharp, endless throbbing that is like an overly loud screamo concert with bonus bagpipes echoing in his head.

Stars above, he’s tired. Tired of the migraines and tired in general. Unfortunately for him, his latest dose of meds — the extra strength ones, at Stretch’s insistence — hasn’t kicked in enough for him to be able to sleep. The closest he can get is hunching over into a ball and pressing his forehead against a pillow as he swallows back the nausea.

Out of it, he doesn’t even realise that Stretch has returned until a gentle hand rests against his shoulder. Cautiously, he rolls his head to the side, then opens his eyes. Stretch, of course, hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything; his love doesn’t want to risk increasing his pain. It’s very sweet of him, even if it can at times be a bit aggravating.

“Love?” he asks, trying to put as much context as he can into that single word. His energy is waning, days of fighting his body wearing him thin. Is this how Stretch feels all the time? If it is, it’s no wonder that he naps so much.

Visibly, Stretch hesitates in answering. He draws his hands up, only to drop them back to his sides. Likely, he realises that even if it’s quieter, trying to visually focus on details, such as watching him sign in a dark room, is just as much of a struggle, if not more so.

“i brought you something,” he murmurs softly. Edge blinks, waiting a few seconds before daring to open his eyes once more. “i would’ve done it sooner, but i kinda forgot i had already made it.” With this, Stretch hands over a thermos.

“Sweetheart…”

“i know you may not feel up to food and stuff, but this should help. i hope.” Holding his breath, Edge opens it, releasing a rising puff of steam as Stretch continues, “i was looking into some stuff for you. i’m not sure if it’ll help,” he admits, fidgeting his hands slightly, “but some humans find ginger helps with headaches and nausea shit. same with caffeine, but i’m sure you knew that already.”

He does. It was something he found out by accident in Underfell. It wasn’t like he ever needed coffee, so he avoided drinking it, leaving their battered tin for Red alone in the hopes it would help him stay awake for work. Not really, but it was worth a try. 

In any case, shortly after his migraines made their awful debut, his brother had once shoved a cup at him. Edge to this day cannot say if Red had known about that bit of human trivia. As much as his older brother might have enjoyed the more sciency fields, biology was not among his interests. More likely, it was a desperate attempt to keep Edge somewhat alert for his guard work. Admittedly, the headaches were taking a lot out of him back then; he hadn’t the experience to adjust yet. That day, his pain had improved so much, even Undyne had noticed when he visited her to submit his reports. 

These days, he will on occasion indulge in a cup, mostly for the social aspect. However, experience tells him that when he can sense the arrival of the prodrome stage, making a cup of coffee can be a godsend.

Right now, though, the mere notion of the scent of roasting coffee is enough to make him want to disappear to become one with the bathroom. And the idea of ginger mingling with it all? Eurgh.

Still, Stretch had put in so much work to try and find a new solution for him. The least he can do is try the beverage.

Mentally steeling himself to obscure any face-scrunching reactions, Edge takes a small sip. Stretch… he isn’t the best in the kitchen, would be a kind way to say it. Add in the fact that his magic is already roiling, and Edge is expecting an unpleasant experience.

Actually… it isn’t bad?

The thermos contains no coffee, thank fuck. Instead, there is only the taste of warm ginger, made more soothing with a surprisingly appropriate amount of honey, considering that Stretch was the one in charge of the concoction.

Looking up dumbly at his love, he raises the thermos questioningly.

“i, um, thought adding a caffeine tablet to some tea might be a good idea for today. i ran it all by alphys,” he reassures in a rush, “and had her double-check the dosages for you. she said it should all be fine.”

“I —” Edge’s voice cuts off, voice choked. There is so much he wants to say to express his gratitude. However, words fail him, whether from his mental haze or just all he feels for his love. All he can manage is a mumbled, “Thank you.”

Stretch smiles. Deep down, something tells him that Stretch understands, regardless of the poor summary of his feelings.

“any time, precious.” Laying a light kiss on the side of his cheek, he says, “now, try to rest for me, ‘kay? and if you need anything, i’m just a holler away.”

Edge nods, shutting his eyes as he holds the thermos close to his curled up body.

He can remember to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some friends and I accidentally started a new March tradition last year, which is called group migraine season (or March Migraine Madness), in which we all happen to experience extra migraines together for several weeks. It's an awful tradition, 100/10 do not recommend trying. On the plus side, at least migraine sharing means that we can give each other advance warning.


	11. Trying Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language

Before reaching the Surface, Stretch would have never said that dirt was sexy.

Not one to avoid the adventure of trying something new, Edge recently informed him of his intention to take up gardening. Other than the King and his flowery throne room, that particular hobby wasn’t super common in the Underground; it was hard enough to get the food they required to grow in a world without sunshine. Sunshine that they now have in abundance. This must be what is motivating Edge to go to town with it. From the pretties to the functional and tasty, he has a billion tabs open on his phone to note down advice on how to maximise each individual plant’s growth. He kneels on the damp soil in the backyard, heedless of the dirt speckling his bones, and isn’t that a sight unlike any other? 

A gorgeous, strangely arousing sight.

Pausing in his work, Edge smiles up at him and peels off his newest pair of gloves: gardening gloves in navy blue patterned with tiny red roses. These were custom made, but what else is new? His baby’s fingers are nice and long — the better to fondle Stretch with, my dear — but narrower than the typical human’s. Any gloves that fit lengthwise don’t take into account that the wearer might not have flesh and muscles to fill it out. A shame, really. Stretch would really like to be able to buy Edge fun novelty gloves whenever, but he can deal with it, if only because it means he gets to see the beauty of him rocking the navy blue gardening gloves with tiny red roses.

“Here,” he says, picking up a tall leafy green thing between his fingers. Edge hands it over to Stretch with a delicacy most people would mistakenly believe him to be incapable of. “Smell it.”

Weird request, but okay. “what is it?”

“Mint, love. Specifically, a piece of peppermint.” Gesturing to the patch of soil in front of him, he explains, “It broke off from the rest when I was trying to transfer it to its plot.”

Neat. Stretch eyes the leaves, taking in the almost bubbly texture left by all its veins. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he raises the sprig to his face… 

And he cronches it. 

He cronches it real hard, much (or should he say _munch_ ) to Edge’s flabbergasted dismay. His boyfriend’s mouth opens and shuts, a real-life gif in front of his own two very eyes.

“Why?” Edge finally settles on. “Just. Why?”

Stretch shrugs, still chewing. “it’s minty.”

This, apparently, isn’t reason enough for Edge. “But… that’s a leaf? Why?”

“look, edgelord, some of us don’t have the teeth of a carnivore —” Edge’s mutterings about how he is _not_ a carnivore, he eats more plants than Stretch, thank you very much, is cut off when he bites off another leaf. Using the stem to point at his boyfriend, he continues “— and you just handed me an edible plant. i like minty desserts; why not put the source directly in my mouth?”

Dropping his skull into his hands, poor Edge looks close to having an aneurysm. “It was covered in dirt???”

“texture.” The ‘duh’ goes unspoken. It’s tempting to point out that Edge too is covered in dirt, but eh, now isn’t the time. Not when he’s already having too much fun with this gentle fuckery. “plus, isn’t dirt supposed to boost the immune system or something?”

Before Edge can sputter out some kind of response, Stretch finishes off the last leaf. Tasty, but definitely better when combined with sugar and chocolatey goodness. Altogether, though, not an unpleasant experience.

“well, thanks for the snack, babe.” Leaning down, he shares a kiss with Edge. After all, he’s the one to thank for Stretch’s newly minty breath; he might as well get to reap the benefits. By the time he pulls back, Edge’s eye lights are fuzzy, no longer focused on his mint consuming adventures. “have fun with your gardening!”

With that, Stretch walks off, a whistle in his step. Edge can have his fun exploring the new, exciting world of gardening. And when he's done, Stretch will be there, with a soapy washcloth and a fresh set of clothes at the ready just for him. 


	12. Nursing the Sick One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mentions of illness, anxiety

Tiptoeing across the plush, light grey carpet, Stretch grabs the tv tray. Slowly, he drags it away from the bed, careful not to spill the still hot mug of chicken noodle soup.

After what seems like an eternity, Edge has settled down to sleep. In some ways it came as a surprise to Stretch; passing out mere seconds after shoving away his soup mug that he had only been able to eat half of would typically be rather uncharacteristic of his boyfriend. However, it still makes sense. Poor guy has been fighting his body so hard.

Barely, Stretch resists the urge to check his temperature again. Sure, he’s probably due for it, but it will just wake him up. Speaking from personal experience, sleep is more important at the moment. Likewise, he fights the temptation to tuck in his blankets, to fluff his pillows, or to grab a cool compress. That simply isn’t helpful right now.

Instead, with a tired groan, he removes the small pile of clothes from their reading chair so he can sit down. Usually, this isn’t a problem. Usually. But, with Edge being under the weather, he has admittedly fallen behind with things.

Other than the faint whistling of Edge’s breathing, the bedroom is pin-drop silent. Slumped against the chair, the moment of quiet provides the catalyst for his mind to go in all the wrong directions. 

Edge hasn't been getting better. Or, at least, Stretch doesn’t think he is. Granted, it would be a lot easier to tell if Edge hadn’t tried to hide his illness from him at first.

Yeah, that’s right. Stretch only found out that Edge, his love, who he _lives_ with, was sick after he got to the point where he could no longer conceal it even if he wanted to; between his congested magic, coughing, sneezing, and a fever high enough to give him vertigo, it is pretty obvious. As it was, he had still gone into Denial City, population Edgelord.

“Why don’t you go visit your brother this weekend,” he had suggested, coughing in his sleeve. Suspicious as fuck, right there. And that doesn’t even include when he had scowled and stalked off for a tissue to put a not so little boogie in. “He would probably enjoy spending some time with you.”

Probably. Most likely, actually, if Blue knew that Edge was under the weather. But Stretch has already been exposed to the sick germs, so he might as well stay and make sure Edge has someone to help take care of him; angel knows he wouldn’t call someone else to do it.

So, is Stretch a little frustrated about all that? Yeah, he’s not going to pretend otherwise. Mostly, though, the real problem of the matter is the painful implication his mind keeps circling back to.

Does… does Edge not trust him?

How long has he really been keeping this hidden? Has he been experiencing minor symptoms for days? Stretch got him to admit that he has been taking medicine for it and he was really good at taking preventative measures in an attempt to ensure that nobody else caught it, but how long has he been suffering? 

Edge was suffering alone and Stretch didn’t even _notice_. Not soon enough. And what does that say about Stretch, that he can’t notice when his boyfriend has a problem? What does that say about him?

Stretch sighs, tiredly scrubbing his hands down his skull.

The last few days have been a series of Not Good days. Not _Bad_ days — he hasn’t had what he would truly classify as a real Bad day in a while, thank fuck — but not Good either. Problem is, Stretch doesn’t have the time nor the energy for another Not Good day, especially not with his anxiety reigning higher than normal.

In reality, he knows that trust isn’t the question here. Not really. Does his baby have trust issues that probably don’t help matters? Sure. Underfell may be physically behind him, but his upbringing there can still have such a painful impact today. No, if he is being reasonable, he knows that Edge probably didn’t want to ‘worry’ him ‘over nothing’. Additionally, Edge just wanted to keep him safe and healthy. He knows that.

Unfortunately, even though Stretch realises that his thoughts are illogical — he _knows_ that — his mind refuses to get with the program. Even when he needs to be here for Edge.

At least it isn’t like this is the first time he has had to play nurse for somebody. Yeah, growing up, Stretch was generally the sicklier one between him and Blue. Thanks stupid HP; it sucks, but that’s just how life works. However, this didn’t mean that Blue was impervious to illness. As a babybones, Blue had a tendency to catch certain minor infections. Nothing serious, really. Just general unpleasantness that made for a fussy little bro.

Edge, on the other hand, is different. 

In all their time together, he has never had to take care of Edge, or at least not in this way. Sure, Stretch has been there for him in times of migraines and aches from injuries old and new. Gladly, he will help out his boyfriend. Anytime. 

But somehow, in his mind, that’s _different_ from illness. It’s different from what he’s used to, and that just seems to get the anxiety train chugging, full speed ahead. Choo choo.

Across the room, the sound of sheets rustling snags Stretch’s attention. With a stuffy groan, Edge stirs in his sleep. Sweat is starting to bead up on his skull, the reddish droplets visible even with the lights off and curtains tightly shut.

With a deep breath, Stretch stands up and grabs from his dresser top of supplies. Swallowing back any hesitation, he settles a cool washcloth on Edge’s forehead. Almost instantly, he sighs in relief.

At that tiny sound, Stretch’s soul unclenches a bit.

Carefully, not wanting to disturb him but needing to remind himself that Edge is going to be fine, Stretch climbs onto the other side of the bed. Curling up, he shuts his eyes. Just a short rest, that’s all he needs. One quick cat nap. As long as he stays well on his half of the bed, all should be good.

Too bad Edge didn’t get the memo.

The mattress shifts as Edge rolls over, washcloth sliding off his face. A quick peek shows his arms reaching out blindly, and his sweetie may be asleep, but boy oh boy, is he determined as ever. Before he knows it, Stretch has officially been turned into his personal teddy bear.

Now, throughout the brief time Stretch has been in the loop about his boyfriend’s current state, Edge has been adamant — which is a nice way to describe the extra assholish grumpiness to which he had been subjected, but hey, he’s not feeling well — that he doesn’t want to infect Stretch. If Stretch wants to make future Edge more content, the smart thing to do would be to wiggle his way out of his embrace.

At this point, though, it’s honestly a lost cause. Might as well stay close; it’ll do the both of them some good.

Seconds turn into minutes, hell, maybe even hours; it isn’t like Stretch had been keeping track of time, okay. He has been too busy soaking in the comfort he always gleans from cuddling with Edge. It helps, even if it doesn’t fix everything. 

Eventually, Edge stirs, tightening his embrace. “Love you,” he mumbles, mostly coherent, before falling back asleep.

Not caring whether or not he is heard, Stretch whispers back, “love you too, edgelord. love you too.”


	13. Wearing Each Other’s Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M  
> Other tags/warnings: language, mild sexual content, fluff

Squinting in the dark of his bedroom, Edge stands in front of his closet, considering his options for his run. 

According to the weather app on his phone, today is a colder day. Now normally, that wouldn’t bother him; he did live in Snowdin for most of his life, after all. But, time on the Surface has made him softer than he used to be, and factoring in the damp bleakness of everything, extra layers would be appreciated.

Quietly, as not to disturb his still sleeping boyfriend, he shuffles through the line of hangers. His athletic wear is mostly kept in their dresser, neatly folded with crisp lines. However, if he wants something warmer than his typical running outfits, it will likely be hanging up.

Almost thoughtlessly, Edge walks over to Stretch’s meager side of the closet. His love prefers having a more modest selection of clothes, all comfortable favourites that he can grab blindly whenever he wakes up. Despite there being next to no light in the room, the colours of Stretch’s clothes still glow brightly, a testament to the cheerful hues he is so fond of. Although, that brightness is nothing compared to the light of his love’s smile.

Edge grabs the nearest of Stretch’s hoodies. Sweaters are the only item of clothing he hoards; if Edge had a dollar for each time a pair of his socks had been borrowed by Stretch because his love had run out, he could afford to buy him an entire castle filled with new hoodies.

The orange tie-dye is cloud-soft, just the way Stretch likes it. Holding it close to his face, all Edge can smell is fresh laundry. Clean. Crisp. However, he can so easily imagine the sweet perfume of his love’s magic mingling in it, a gentle honeyed note.

Interestingly enough, the pocket of this particular hoodie zips at both sides. Convenient. For someone like Stretch, who treats his pockets like Mary Poppins’ purse, something like that would be indispensable. The cut is also perfect for running; at a glance, he can tell it will allow the wearer a large range of motion.

Hmmmmm… 

Now that’s an idea.

* * *

Stretch wakes up to an empty bed.

That in and of itself isn’t too much of a surprise. Edge has always been one to beat out the early bird when it comes to mornings, and very few things can convince him to wait to capture his worm. Plus, the weather has finally been getting nice again. Even his sweetie draws the line of marathoning in freezing rain, so it must be nice to be able to get his active on.

Well, Stretch is awake now. Might as well check if Edge was kind enough to turn on the coffee pot before he left.

Rolling out of bed, he sludges his way over to the closet, already having a specific outfit in mind. Today is a day to be warm and cozy. Unfortunately, he can’t stay in his pjs all day, and if he doesn’t get dressed now, Stretch knows it’s not going to happen at all. 

The next best thing for today would be his unofficial uniform of a hoodie and comfy pants. More specifically, he’s in a fun mood. Today isn’t the day for plain Jane patternless clothes. No siree. This is a time for quirky details bringing a bright hoodie from basic to better.

Except, when Stretch looks for the neon tie-dye he has in mind, it’s gone, nowhere to be found. 

Huh. He doesn’t remember putting that one in the wash… Maybe Edge got in one of his deep cleaning moods again. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that the edgelord decided he needed to redisinfect things for no discernible reason.

Alrighty, so the hoodie is out. At least he can still put on the matching jogging pants — or not.

Well, that’s extra weird. A second and third check of the closet reveals that Stretch’s tie-dye hoodie and pants are the only things missing. Even when he checks the laundry hamper out of curiosity, there’s nothing. Literally; there isn’t even a ball of lint inside.

Interesting.

Now, a suspicious little lightbulb winks on in Stretch’s mind, putting things together. This could just be some kind of tinfoil hat idea, but there is no way only that specific outfit could have disappeared. No way, no how.

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Stretch steps away from his part of the closet. Grinning, he muses, “well, what to wear now…”

* * *

A satisfying sense of exhaustion in his soul, Edge unlocks the front door and steps inside.

Stars, he had missed that. The wind rushing past his bare skull, the earthy aroma of dewy morning grass, the changes beneath his feet when he switches from pavement to muddy pathways and back again. Running inside on a machine simply isn’t the same, especially now that he has the true outdoors to enjoy in all of its glory.

Shaking off any remaining chill, he sets his running shoes on the rack. Why track mud into the house, after all. From the kitchen, the strain of… is that bagpipe music? Whatever it is, it signals that Stretch has gotten out of bed.

“Good morning, love,” he calls out. If Stretch is already up, his shower might as well wait until after breakfast; more time with Stretch is always a blessing. Turning the corner into the kitchen, Edge considers asking if Stretch has any breakfast requests —

— only to freeze mid-step through the doorway, his jaw dropping.

Sipping his coffee with the intensity of a man dying of dehydration, Stretch sits at the table. That isn’t too much of a surprise; it’s still quite early for his love to be up, and he tends to require a steady dose of caffeine to get going at the best of times. Everything else about his presence, though…

Edge has no words. 

Blame all the magic rushing down away from his skull to settle heavily in his pelvic cavity.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one to venture to the other’s side of the closet this morning. Black typically isn’t in the colour family favoured by Stretch. In his mind, the brighter and more likely to be seen from space an article of clothing is, the better. But, if this is what it looks like on him… oh _fuck_ , Edge needs it. 

The tight leather pants, cropped tank top, and leather jacket, so different from his normal baggy hoodies and cargo shorts, showcasing that lovely slim bone structure… _yes_. Even from across the room, Edge can trace his eye lights over each and every rib, the hint of iliac crests peeking out from that low-sitting waistline. What little brain power he has left goes to convincing him that he should run his hands over each and every one of those bones.

Even his posture is enticing. Leather is entirely inappropriate for slouching around while drinking coffee, which means Stretch is sitting up nice and straight, giving Edge a better view of that sexy spine.

 _Fuck_.

With no idea how long he has been gawking at him, Edge is helpless when Stretch looks up and makes eye contact with him. A sly grin blooms across his face. That smile should spell out danger. “like what you see, precious?” Scraping back his chair, he stands up and stretches, graceful and lithe and lovely and oh stars, how did Edge not notice that Stretch had filched his shiny, skull-shaped belt buckle?

Stretch saunters forward, spurs on his borrowed boots jangling with each step. It makes him taller than normal, and Edge looks up in admiration. Surely, he must tell that the fact that Edge is still standing slack-jawed is more of a response than any words he could try saying. 

“you see, i got up this morning and noticed something missing from the closet.” Using the creamsicle orange hoodie strings, he tugs Edge closer. That smirk, so smug and gorgeous, disappears from view as Stretch leans in close to whisper next to his skull, “thought i’d return the favour.”

Edge swallows with a dry click; return it he certainly did.

Miraculously, he manages to tear his gaze away from Stretch long enough to check the clock. He smiles; _excellent_.

He still has plenty of time before work.

With a single move, Edge has Stretch’s mouth pressed against his own, warm and welcoming. His love might have been tired earlier, but he is very awake now, his tongue moving cleverly against his own. He guides them both to the kitchen floor, heedless of how unsanitary they are going to be.

What can he say? He may love it when Stretch borrows his clothes, but nothing compares to the sight of him wearing nothing at all.


	14. Exercising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language, mild sexual references, fluff

It's a beautiful day. Birds are singing sweetly, the flowers in Edge's garden are blooming bright and the perfect sunbeam warms Stretch's bones this fine morning. 

This, however, isn't why he is leaning with his head out the bedroom window, elbows resting comfortably on the cool sill. No, he likes to believe that he is a skeleton of taste, thank you. That's why his focus is entirely on Edge and the exhilarating things he is doing in their backyard. Sexy things, to precise. Or, that’s his libido’s opinion, at least. But, eh, his libido thinks that about pretty much anything and everything Edge does, so maybe it’s not the most reliable source.

Truth is, Edge probably doesn’t even realise the way he is affecting Stretch. During the post-jog cool down stage of his morning workout, there is a lot of stretching involved, showing off his baby’s flexibility. And if there is one thing Stretch knows _very_ intimately, it is that Edge is _extremely_ flexible.

Down boy.

“Enjoying yourself up there, love?” Edge asks dryly, craning his neck to look up to him. Sweat glistens in the sunlight, giving his bones a tempting sheen.

Well, it sure isn’t like Stretch has any shame when it comes to loving him. Smirking, he calls down, “absolutely, lover.”

“Care to join me?”

It is on the tip of his tongue to say no. There is only one type of exercise that interests Stretch, and he is sad to say that there isn’t enough time for a good round of sheet aerobics. He bites his tongue, however, at the last second. 

There is the smallest hint of pleading in Edge’s voice, a flicker of fragile hope in those crimson eye lights. Edge _wants_ this. The kicker is, he likely doesn’t realise he is giving away his desires.

That’s why Stretch shortcuts down beside him, the dewy grass tickling his bare feet.

“what do i do?” he asks quietly. With great satisfaction, he takes in the flare of pure delight in his boyfriend’s eyes.

A smile brightens his face, taking away the harshness which masks his true age. To Stretch, Edge never looks more gorgeous than when he is wearing that carefree smile. “Well,” he says, looking him up and down. Stretch may still be in his pyjamas, but the loose, comfy cotton pants and shirt are probably just as good to exercise in as anything else in his wardrobe. “Let’s start with some good back stretches.”

“okie dokie, coach.” Edge rolls his eyes at the nickname, but Stretch knows he secretly loves it. “ready to show me the ropes?”

Proving that he isn’t nearly as humourless as he pretends to be, Edge snorts. “Not right now, I’m not. If I’m going to show you that, I would like some privacy; it sure as hell isn’t going to happen where the neighbours can see.”

“promises, promises.”

“Brat.”

Stretch smirks. “you know it and love it.”

Not even trying for snark, he replies, “That I do. Now, watch.”

Shuffling back a few steps to give himself some more space, Edge demonstrates. Arms raised so that he could easily break out in the Chicken Dance at any moment — unlikely, but damn, Stretch would pay to see that — he slowly twists from side to side. Upon returning from his run this morning, Edge had decided to tie up his shirt until it became short enough to qualify as a crop top. As a result, Stretch is treated to a nice viewing of his spine, the fluidity in which it moves.

He loves Edge’s bones so much. To be honest, he isn’t sure if his baby even knows how gorgeous he finds them. Edge, he can sometimes be overly critical of what he views as his failures. And by sometimes, he means nearly always. Forget all the good he has done, how remarkable he is. In Edge’s mind, he can always do more, should have always done more. To him, his scars are a sign of failure, of weakness.

Never to Stretch, though. To him, those scars show how his love has survived all that his fucking hellhole threw at him. Those scars show someone who has overcome and has grown stronger from it all. Someone who, despite having seen some of the worst things the world has to give, continues to try his best and believes that others can choose to do the same.

“Ahem,” Edge coughs loudly. Only then does Stretch realise he has just been standing there, gawking like a lovestruck idiot. Whoops. In his defense, though, he absolutely is a lovestruck idiot for Edge; that is a title he will gladly claim. “Your turn, sweetheart.” 

Well, here goes nothing. He wants to try this, for Edge. With his first twist, a soft groan escapes his mouth as the magic holding his joints together crackles in the most gratifying way. Yeah, that’s the good stuff. The lazybones in him hates to admit it, but his shoulders and spine are in complete agreement that Edge is on to something with the whole morning stretching routine.

Besides, the punster in him has to admit that it is very apropos, giving his new name in this universe.

“Very good, love,” Edge says encouragingly, guiding him into the next step of the workout. His cheeks are more flushed than before, and Stretch doubts it’s because of his current exertion. Looky looks like Stretch isn't the only one who likes to be a bit of a voyeur, hmm.

And as they eventually reach a finish, Stretch comes to a conclusion: he wouldn’t mind this whole exercise thing from time to time. As long as it makes Edge happy, and as long as it means they get to bask further in each other’s company, Stretch is willing to try it.


	15. House Cleaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: bittersweet fluff

Water sloshes harshly against white tiles. Chemical smells, strong artificial lemon with a hefty undertone of chlorine, pervade the room. It certainly isn't the perfume Stretch was hoping for this morning, but it is the one he gets as Edge wages his personal war against grime and germs.

Stretch tries to suppress his pained grimace. He really does. Just watching him makes his bones _ache_ ; that intensity is more than a little bit painful. 

Without the slightest doubt, Stretch can tell that Edge is in one of his Moods™. Sure, his honey is always a professional neat freak; look the word up in the dictionary, and you’ll find a picture of Edge, heavy latex gloves and industrial-sized vat of disinfectant in hand. But this… this is really something else.

Wordlessly, Stretch pushes a chair out of the way, allowing Edge to scrub the floor beneath. On his hands and knees, his nasal aperture is nearly touching the now sparkling tile. The fact that he is hand washing everything instead of using a mop is telling, in Stretch’s opinion. Is it more thorough of a process? Definitely; nothing like getting up close and personal with the dirt enemy to eliminate it. However, that right there is just as much a reason for concern. Hand washing is grueling, mind-numbing work. Add in that touch of sanitary obsession, and the answer is obvious.

Edge is in a Mood ™, and it doesn’t look like a good one. 

The worst part is, Stretch isn’t exactly sure if there is something specific that has set it off, or if it is even something to be concerned about. If there is something Edge does need to talk about, though, he clearly isn’t ready for it yet. Sometimes, his baby simply needs to exhaust himself through polishing their chrome faucets, needs everything to be scrubbed and disinfected until it’s more sterile than an operating room. Making something in the world okay, even when everything isn’t okay with him.

Helping out with that is the least Stretch can do. 

Even if helping out mostly translates into doing damage control.

The twist-pop of a cap being removed catches his attention. Frowning, he grabs Edge’s forearm, preventing him from pouring more bleach into his already supersaturated cleaning solution. “babe,” he admonishes, gentling his touch at Edge’s loud snarl but refusing to let go, “that’s more than enough bleach.”

Resisting — although not nearly enough to be effective, a good sign — he protests, “But—”

“no butts; we’re skeletons, we don’t have any.” With a single tug, Stretch takes away the bottle, stifling a grimace at how empty it feels. More gently, he says, “that’s enough. we can always make a fresh batch in a bit, okay?”

A baleful glare. A loud sigh. Then… 

“Fine,” he grumbles, nearly pouting as he slaps his cleaning rag down, crossing his arms. Normally, something like that would be adorable. Now, though, any cuteness is overshadowed by worries over what could be wrong.

 _Oh edgelord_.

Cautiously, Stretch scooches forward a smidge. He doesn’t want to rile up his prickly lover, but he has a feeling his honey could probably use a bit of honey. Gratefully, Edge meets him halfway for a quick kiss. Good. 

Running a finger over his cheekbone, Stretch offers, “how ‘bout i get started on a load of laundry, huh?”

This, at least, is something he knows he can help with to soothe Edge cleaning-wise. Laundry is simply enough of a chore, and experience shows that Stretch can handle it up to his boyfriend’s high standards; he won’t stress him out by doing a subpar job that he believes he has to ‘fix’.

Shortcutting to the other side of the room with bleach in hand — no way in hell is he going to ruin Edge’s hard work — he quietly vows to himself to make sure to have some pain meds at the ready. His baby loves to bleach things all nice and clean, but the bleach doesn’t always get along with him. A migraine would just be an awful cherry on top of his probable shit sundae; might as well take any measures he can to deal with it.

“Stretch?”

Nearly falling right on his coccyx with the speed that he turns around, he says, “yeah?”

Edge has paused in his cleaning. Ever so quietly, he brings a smile to Stretch’s face as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

“anytime, edgelord.”

Stretch still may not know what is going on with Edge, and he may not know for a while yet. But, that’s okay with him. Edge will tell him if and when he's ready, and that's perfectly fine. 

Until then, Stretch is happy just being there for him, even if it means extra chores for the next day or two.


	16. Picnics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language, fluff

For what must be the seventh time in the past three and a half minutes, Edge sighs, “I’m sorry, love.” Just like the previous six times in the past three and a half minutes, Stretch doesn’t turn around, doesn’t respond. He just continues in his disappointed sulk.

Sadly, Edge isn’t surprised.

His poor sweetheart had been so excited for the drive-in movie night. All week, Stretch had planned everything down to what bags to put their picnic dinner in — the space-themed ones, appropriate for whatever old human sci-fi film they were scheduled to watch. Everything was ready to go, all according to plan.

Well, almost everything.

Neither of them had been prepared for the arrival of a freak storm. 

In retrospect, Edge at least should have known better. Something about the way Surface weather shifts turns him into a living, breathing barometer; old injuries have an irritating tendency to ache and his migraines are more likely to emerge. If he had clued in, maybe…

No, there is no point dwelling on the maybes.

Merely a few minutes ago, they received the news that the drive-in was canceled. Severe weather conditions were cited as the cause, making it understandably too dangerous to proceed. Needless to say, Stretch didn’t take it well.

“stars-damned stupid surface weather,” he mutters sourly, throwing in some profanity that would prompt even _Red_ of all people to dig out the soap to wash out that potty mouth. “always ruining all my fucking fun.”

Correction is owed: saying that Stretch didn’t take it well… that _may_ have been a bit of an understatement.

Since finding out, his love has been parked on the couch, glaring grumpily out the window. His favourite lighter, bright orange scattered with little smiley face emojis, flips between his hands at an increasing interval. He is unwilling to risk stepping out into the wind and the rain to smoke, which is far too telling for Edge’s tastes.

Edge’s concerns are broken as a strike of lightning flashes, lighting up Stretch’s skull in the most fantastical way. Still, his love doesn’t move. Silently, he counts the seconds before the loud rumble of thunder. Edge frowns, disheartened that Stretch didn’t join him. He doesn’t even announce the approximate calculations of how far away it had come from. Even though Edge has long since learned the human trick of figuring it out, Stretch normally delights in explaining all the scientific principles at play. 

How is it that the thrill of lightning isn’t enough to lift his love’s spirits?

Out of the corner of his eyes, Edge notices the blanket bunched up on the other side of the couch. Socked feet whispering against the carpet, he picks it up. Letting the bundle rest in his hands, he wonders whether he should drape the soft, comforting throw over Stretch or if he should simply return it to its spot, neatly folded on the back of the couch.

Or… Edge pauses, consideringly.

Perhaps, it could work. It’s worth a try, at least.

Edge drops the blanket back on the couch, briskly walking to the kitchen.

“babe?” Stretch calls after him, perfectly bewildered. Apparently, not bothering to fold something is what it takes to capture his attention. Good to know.

Smiling out of his view, Edge replies, “Just a moment, love.” He has something he needs to do.

Gathering everything takes a few minutes, but he hopes his effort will prove worth it. As long as he can get Stretch’s mood to brighten a little bit, he will consider this a success. Arms full, a haze of blue magic lights up the air and the floating objects around him as he returns to the living room; if possible, he would like to get this done in only one trip.

As he kneels down, Edge can feel a set of bemused eye lights watching him. Mentally, he can picture the furrowed brow as Stretch tries to piece everything together. For now, he leaves him in his wonderment.

Red and white checkered fabric flutters as Edge spreads a new blanket onto the middle of the floor. Quickly, he shoves their coffee table aside, making for a less claustrophobic area. Then, tugging at a corner of the blanket to flatten out the hem, he sets out a basket of food.

Stretch’s gasp of realisation, quiet as it is, overshadows the most stunning lightning and any bold growls of thunder.

Still, Edge waits to turn and see it. Instead, he sets out a pair of thermoses, one with lemonade and another with hot cocoa. Only then does he stand up, taking a step back to assess his work before facing Stretch.

“babe…” he says slowly, pale eye lights moving over the room, “is… is this what i think it is?”

Edge nods. “I know it’s not the same, but I see no reason why we can't have our own indoor movie and picnic — oof!”

Stumbling back a step, Edge plants his heels firmly in the carpet to counterbalance as Stretch launches himself forward into his arms.

“I take it you like this idea,” he laughs, selfishly grateful to have that eager weight in his arms once more. 

Stretch doesn’t say anything, thanks or otherwise. Or, he doesn’t thank him with words, that is. But Edge understands the meaning of the fluttered kisses peppered all over his skull just as well as any spoken word.

Pulling him down into his lap, Edge snatches the remote and lets Stretch flip to Netflix. Rain, falling heavily against their house, serves as a soft soundtrack in the meantime. Rolling his eyes fondly as Stretch ignores the healthy fruits and veggies laid out before them in favour of cookies and honey tarts, Edge settles his chin on his shoulder. Stretch simply wiggles closer, offering a sticky treat up to him. 

He accepts, joy bursting in his soul from his love for this sweet, sweet skeleton.


	17. Shopping (For Fun)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language, fluff

Holding hands, Stretch can’t help but happily swing his and Edge’s arms as they walk through the mall.

He still can’t believe he managed to convince Edge to come here with him. He knows his honey’s opinions on major shopping centres, after all. Got the whole rundown just before their first Gyftmas together. His poor sweetheart had braved the dangers of holiday shopping crowds all alone. Somehow, Stretch gets the impression that he would rather have spent a few hours back in Underfell than repeat that particular experience. Quite the memorable rant, though.

“Malls are awful things, really,” Edge had complained, fiercely wrapping a present for his brother. “All those humans just wandering around, pushy vendors walking directly into a person’s path asking if they wish to smell their ‘special’ new shampoo formulation, despite the fact that the person in question doesn’t even _have_ hair —” Stretch didn’t bother hiding his snicker at that comment, passing over the tape dispenser, “— children screeching in tantrums until their frazzled parents drag the little brats to the nearest toy store…” His voice trailed off. The shriek of scissors running through wrapping paper in a single swoop served as punctuation. “No, thank you.”

But, hey, here they are. It really goes to show the lengths Edge will go to for him. Just thinking about it makes Stretch’s soul all toasty-woasty warm.

The thing is, he didn’t exactly have any particular reason to come here today. He was just in the mood to window shop. If he wanted, he probably could’ve gotten over the shopping bug with some good old internet browsing, but, eh, there’s something about being able to see the merchandise in person. Maybe it’s the years of getting shit from the dumps in Waterfall. All he knows is that he just prefers getting the chance to make sure he knows what he’s getting himself into before he buys it.

Idly glancing at a garish display of heavily scented soap, Stretch takes another sip of his melting drink. Somewhere along the way, he had also convinced Edge to buy some snacks. Pretzel bites coated in a hearty layer of cinnamon sugar hit the spot, and a nice frozen lemonade was the perfect thing to wash them down. Edge had settled on a plain black coffee, because of course he did. Although, it really goes to show his boyfriend’s good mood that he went and bought something instead of sticking to the free water fountains.

Then again… Looking at one of those fountains, it’s pretty low down. And — based on layer upon layer of fingerprint smudges visible from several meters away — germy. Edge is probably saving his dignity, his hygienic standards, and his back in avoiding those.

Suddenly, the firm click of heels ceases beside Stretch. His arm is pulled backwards, hand still very much held within Edge’s. Turning back a step and a half, he takes in the strong angles of Edge’s face, amplified by the overly bright lights of the jewelry store in front of him.

“babe, what’s up?”

Keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, Edge’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “Can we —” he coughs, clearing his throat. “Would you be okay going in here, for a few minutes?”

“sure,” he shrugs, squeezing his hand. He could wonder at Edge’s behaviour, but he doesn’t give it that much thought. His edgelord is a pretty swanky guy; maybe he wants to go admire some nice shinies. There are definitely worse places they could go, and this is supposed to be a fun shopping trip.

Edge should get his fun too.

Before they walk into the store filled with lots of expensive shit, Stretch takes advantage of the nearby garbage can. He slurps up the last of his lemonade, not bothering to smother a shit-eating grin when Edge makes a disapproving huff at the obnoxious noise. Similarly, he doesn’t bother hiding his delight when Edge snatches the cup out of his hand, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before tossing it into the trash.

Personally, Stretch doesn’t get the appeal of wandering around, looking at jewelry. Yeah, some of this stuff is gorgeous. However, the whole premise is a bit stressful; angel forbid he accidentally trip or something and break a fortune’s worth of jewels.

Watching Edge look at jewelry, though… now that’s nice. His honey is so intently focused, the beautiful crimson of his eye light reflected back on the surface of the gems he inspects. Every once in a while, something will catch his fancy and he gives Stretch’s hand the slightest of excited squeezes; Stretch doubts he even realises he’s doing it. It is so sweet, even if there is something vaguely amusing about his tall, spikes and leather-clad boyfriend towering intimidatingly over the prim, middle-aged human employees as he looks at the pretty rocks.

One display in particular seems to really catch his attention. Before Stretch can lean in to see what it is, though, Edge places a hand on his chest, stopping him. Guiding him to a more out of the way section of the store, he smoothes out the front of Stretch’s hoodie before pulling back his hands.

“I was intending on waiting,” he says, tilting his chin up to look Stretch lovingly in the eyes, “but seeing as we are here now, love…”

Edge gets down on one knee.

Feeling somewhat lightheaded, Stretch grabs Edge’s hand. It’s warm. Edge is always so warm, and he is so good at letting Stretch share in that warmth.

Is… is this really happening? It seems like something from a dream. The best dream, if admittedly a strange one. Edge, his honey who plans like he is trying out for the organisational Olympics, just spontaneously proposing? 

Stars, he hopes this isn’t a dream. He doesn’t want to wake up and give this up.

His voice pitched to a sweet, husky whisper, Edge recites some beautiful speech. Most likely, he has been planning this for weeks. Distantly in the background, Stretch can hear the sales associate fawning over how sweet it is. 

However, he can’t concentrate on the words. His soul is buzzing with joy. He doesn’t doubt that Edge loves him, but there’s something extra special about him _proposing_. It’s a promise of their shared love, of their future together.

It’s okay, though; even if his mind can’t keep track of the precise detail of what Edge is saying, his soul knows it is beautiful.

Edge isn’t done speaking when Stretch drops to his own knees. The pure white tiles are cold against his patellae, but that is the absolute last thing he is thinking of. Embracing him gleefully, Stretch laughs, “yes! fuck yes, i wanna marry you!”

Behind them, the same sales associate swoons, exclaiming over the perfect romance. Stretch would have to agree, especially as Edge closes the distance between them to seal the agreement with a kiss — or half a dozen.

Eventually, they both get up; Stretch can feel people staring and while he isn’t ashamed about showing his affection for his boyfriend — no, his _fiancé_ — the gawking kinda makes him feel like some kind of exhibit.

Besides, they have a job to do; their new rings aren’t going to pick themselves.


	18. Family Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language, fluff

Slipping a pair of oven mitts over his normal cooking gloves, Edge doesn’t turn around when he says, “Stretch, sweetheart.”

In response, he hums vaguely. That’s the tone Edge gets when he wants to ease his way into telling him something; it’s best to just let him get to the point.

“You’re shaking the table, love.”

With a blink of confusion, Stretch looks down. Dishes, nicely set out with all the proper settings, clatter. Well, damn. He knew he was bouncing his legs, but he didn’t realise they were jittering so badly. Sheepishly, he forces them still and glances back up across the kitchen. “sorry.”

Edge frowns. Hastily, he pulls the pan of lasagne out of the oven. Sloughing off the maroon, quilted oven mitts, he comes over to hold Stretch’s hands.

Pure concern radiates off of him as he says, “You seem anxious, love.” He pauses, clicking his sharp teeth thoughtfully. “Do we need to call this off?”

“no!” Stretch exclaims, his eye sockets widening. Edge has put so much work into this. “we can’t cancel now!”

“Are you sure?” Comfortingly, he rubs circles over the backs of Stretch’s hands with his thumbs. “I’m sure the others would understand.”

Edge is probably right. Still… “i’m sure.” Leaning back in his chair, he scowls at himself; his leg has started bouncing again, without his permission. He draws his legs up onto the chair, adjusting to fold them up close to his chest. “i guess i’m a _little_ nervous,” he admits with a sigh, pinching his thumb and index finger together, “but it’s a good nervous, if that makes sense?”

“I suppose it does.” Edge leans down to kiss his hands, lingering at the sparkling new ring on his left hand. 

As he straightens up, his eye lights are softly diffused. Fuck, Stretch loves it when he looks at him like that, like he’s something special to be treasured. “Well, love, I have supper to finish. Do you mind running to the freezer for me? I thought the pie I baked last week might make a nice dessert.”

“sure thing, precious.” Before he can escape, Stretch reaches forward to grab Edge’s hands, returning the gesture over his gloves. Face erupting with the most gorgeous scarlet flush, he coughs, stepping back.

“Thank you, Stretch.”

“anytime, babe.”

With that, Stretch wanders down to their ‘storage freezer’, as Edge likes to call the one in the basement. Devoted solely to food he prepares in advance to reheat in a time of need, the enormous chest is a bit much, in Stretch’s opinion. Still, he can’t argue against its existence in their house; even if his honey didn’t keep it near overflowing at all times, he knows it’s important to Edge. Good, healthy food for his loved ones, available at all times. Just in case.

The choice to walk instead of shortcutting is a strategic one. Maybe it will help use up some of his anxious energy so he doesn’t give things away once the other’s get here.

He sure hopes so.

Technically speaking, this week’s get together was supposed to be Saturday night — and at Blue’s place. It was a work of brilliant cunning, really, that Edge managed to rearrange everything without rousing suspicions. Then again, strategy has always been his baby’s strong suit.

That strategic strength has really been working overtime in the past twenty-four hours as they planned everything out. The two of them had figured that it would be best to announce their engagement to their brothers before sharing the news with the rest of the world. A nice dinner seemed like the perfect occasion to do so; something like this deserves some ceremony, not just a random text or a phone call after work.

At first, they were just going to invite Red and Blue. However, he and Edge soon realised they would be hard-pressed to admit that Sans and Papyrus didn’t deserve to be among the first to know. They count as family at this point, for better or for worse.

In some ways, it would have been easier to just share it this weekend at Blue’s. Neither of them wanted to wait, though. Besides the fact that Stretch just wants to boast to the world about this proof of Edge’s love for him, he knows he would be too likely to accidentally spill the beans. As it was, today he has already almost spoiled the surprise. 

Sure, he doubts Blue or Red would hold it against them permanently if they told other people before them. Still, that doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t hurt.

So, supper. It’s a thing. Stretch even has a stack of DVDs out on the coffee table — half to sell the excuse for the whole gang getting together to visit and half because he really doubts that Red would be able to tolerate the mush of everyone talking about the engagement for the entire night without shanking someone.

Stretch grabs the pie from the top of the freezer. The tinfoil wrapping the tin is neatly labeled in Edge’s handwriting with the date of when it was baked and the flavour. Wildberry, nice.

Seconds after he drops the pie off to Edge, the doorbell rings. “come in,” he calls. Best not to leave whoever it is loitering on their doorstep in the chilly evening air, and Stretch is a little busy at the moment.

His fiancé needs to get his kisses, after all.

“Go see who it is,” Edge chuckles against his mouth, gently shoving him away. “You’re distracting me from the garlic bread.”

“oh, well we certainly can’t have that,” he smirks. When Edge nods and turns back to the counter, though, he can’t resist reaching to deliver a cheeky pinch to his coccyx. Edge’s muffled shriek of surprise is more than worth it, even as Stretch has to shortcut out of the kitchen to avoid getting smacked with a tea towel.

“You’re a brat!” he shouts. 

“love you too, babe!” Turning on his heel, he sees Papyrus smiling and shaking his head in amusement as Sans hangs limp as a sack of ketchup soaked potatoes over his shoulder. He raises his voice to be heard over Sans’ snores to say, “hey, glad you guys could make it.”

Before Papyrus can respond, there is another ring of the doorbell.

“make yourselves at home,” Stretch calls over his shoulder. Nodding, Papyrus drops his sleeping brother onto the couch and settles himself beside him. Unsurprisingly, Sans doesn’t even wake up, even when he bounces from the impact.

Blue barely waits for him to open the door before barreling over for a hug. “Hello, Papy,” he says, snuggling close just like when he was a babybones. Then, he wiggles out of the embrace, already chattering to Papyrus from across the room.

True to form, Red, reeking of smoke and cheap alcohol, is the last to show up. He manages to toe the line of being late despite shortcutting his non-existent ass directly onto the middle of the couch. On the plus side, the sudden weight of a skeleton sitting on his lap is what finally wakes Sans up.

Needless to say, Edge gives Red a Look of disapproval as he emerges from the kitchen to usher them all in to eat. He doesn’t comment, though, which really goes to show how good of a mood he is in tonight.

Choosing a seat with Edge to his left and his bro to his right, Stretch sinks into his chair with a groan. Right away, Edge runs a comforting hand over his, lingering over his new ring before twining their fingers together.

Supper itself is pretty normal. Stretch can’t help but steal secret glances at Edge, smiling in anticipation. Barely, he resists the urge to lean into him; the only reason he doesn’t is that it would make eating a tad bit tricky. Later, though, when they start the movie? Cuddle time to the max.

The minute the last plate is empty, Edge pushes his chair to stand up. Rather than grabbing the pie and ice cream for dessert, however, he tugs encouragingly at Stretch’s hand, urging him to join him.

Well, here goes nothing.

Edge’s voice is almost amusingly serious as he coughs to gain everyone’s attention. “Stretch and I, we have an important announcement to share with all of you.”

On the other side of the table, Sans yawns, scratching at his coccyx. “would it have anything to do with the fact that you two are finally gonna tie the knot?”

Almost automatically, Edge continues, “We would like to officially —” He freezes, Sans’ words clearly sinking.

Well, this is definitely a detour from the trip Stretch had been expecting for the night. Curious, he asks, “how’d you know?”

Blue rolls his eye lights as Red snorts and takes another drink. “Brother. You two are wearing matching rings.”

“It wasn’t a very difficult puzzle,” Papyrus chimes in.

Huh.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

Edge blushes, likely embarrassed that he didn’t catch that in advance. “Then, I suppose it’s time for dessert. Unless,” he adds, narrowing his eyes in intimidation, “anyone has any objections.”

“fuck no, bro. it’s about damn time.”

“I agree,” Papyrus says, a strange gleam in his eyes. Blue and Sans nod along.

“Good.” With that knowledge, Edge’s expression softens once more. “Stretch, could you help me?”

“of course.”

Hand in hand, they leave for the kitchen. Now is the time to celebrate. And, based on the sounds of everyone paying over to Papyrus, there is plenty to celebrate.

After all, if he or Edge were ever doubting of their family’s support, the fact that they had unsurprisingly been betting on their engagement should be more than ample proof of that.


	19. Nighttime Routine*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E  
> Other tags/warnings: nsfw, smut, teasing, fluff

In some ways, it’s rather surprising how little his nighttime routine has changed since Stretch had blessed Edge by moving in together.

The mundane details are fairly similar. Edge gets home roughly the same time — although, if he were honest with himself, Edge would admit his commitment to leaving work on time rather than staying angel knows how late to finish what he was doing has increased immensely so he can see Stretch sooner. Supper preparations are also remarkably similar to when he was a bachelor. The concept of making food for two people isn’t anywhere near bizarre for him; Edge had been doing it his entire life to make sure Red had actually eaten something remotely healthy. Even when his brother had moved out, his portioning habits were hard to kick. Extra portions simply became the next day’s lunch or joined the other neatly packaged containers in the freezer. These days, of course, he has Stretch to help him eat his meals.

Oh, but there is one key, wonderful difference come bedtime.

The evening had been ordinarily calm. Stretch, in the mood to futz around with some calculations, had snuggled beside him on the couch when Edge got to the point where he actually felt like sitting down to watch some television. They had spent the hours together in amicable silence, comfortable in each other’s company.

Unsurprisingly, Stretch was the first to turn in for the night. With his low HP, he naturally needs more rest than Edge, a fact that isn’t helped by their shared insomniac tendencies. Before he can fully untangle himself from the throw blanket made to look like a Surface sunset, Edge turns to kiss him behind the coronal suture.

“Wait for me?”

“always,” Stretch agrees, returning the favour with an overly sloppy kiss on the cheek. Then, slick as an eel, he shortcuts his way upstairs to their room.

There are a few steps remaining before Edge can join him. Shutting off the tv, he folds up the blanket before making his rounds of the house. This, of course, is a habit from Underfell, acquired before Red had even purchased the sad, crumbling shack in Snowdin they called a home. Quadruple checking that all the doors and windows are locked is probably a bit obsessive. He can admit it. Still, something in him simply refuses to relax until the last lock is verified to be nice and secure.

Without pause, he makes his way back upstairs. Knowing that Stretch is already up there, waiting for him on their shared bed, makes magic well up in his mouth.

Yes, this is something of a newer addition to his nightly routine, and one he is unwilling to give up any time soon. A little… _exertion_ … is the perfect thing, really, and not only because it acts as the perfect catalyst to help them both drop off for the night. Hearing Stretch moan out his name, quivering with pleasure, knowing Stretch can make him do the same for him… Now that’s a trove of riches Edge would have never dared to imagine in his old life.

Making a quick stop to the bathroom to grab some washcloths and a basin of warm, soapy water — always better to be prepared, after all — Edge shuts off the hallway light and eagerly closes their bedroom door behind him.

“Hello,” he says, allowing his voice to drop huskily as he draws the word out slowly. Before him lies a beautiful sight. Sprawled out comfortably, Stretch reclines with his head propped up on a tall stack of pillows. He is still fully clothed, crumb-covered hoodie and all. A stray smudge of toothpaste accentuates his sleepy smile.

“hello yourself.” In one fluid, lazy motion, he opens his legs invitingly. “‘bout time you came up here.” Edge can’t even shake his head in fake disgust, he is so enthralled, when Stretch tacks on, “but i hope you’re ready to come some more tonight, precious.”

“Is that a promise?” he teases, setting the basin and washcloths on his nightstand.

Finding it delectably threatening, Edge shivers at the dark undertone to Stretch’s laugh. “oh, you better believe it.”

Sitting up, Stretch sends him a hooded gaze, pale eye lights smoldering in the low light of their room. Ever the lovable brat, he hums the Jeopardy theme under his breath, which is among the least erotic game show songs in his repertoire. Regardless, Edge can’t tear his eyes away as his hands draw near the collar of his hoodie. Stretch is clearly nearing exhaustion, wiggling out of his clothes not as an act of seduction but rather as it is apparently the easiest way to be rid of them.

Edge is still very much seduced.

Shaking his head in amusement — although he isn’t entirely sure if it’s at his love’s antics or his own easy captivation — Edge neatly strips out of his own clothes. He then gathers up the items Stretch had left dangling off the foot of the bed and onto the floor to add with his own in the hamper.

“need you,” Stretch exhales breathily. His magic, already swirling into his pelvis, serves as visual confirmation. Edge’s magic is eager to do the same as he climbs onto the bed, following the beckoning of Stretch’s (gorgeously smooth and perfect) grabby hands. “ _please._ ”

“I’m here,” he says, swinging a leg over to straddle his love. The heat of Stretch’s magic, so close to his own, sends sparks up his body. He leans down, running his hands over Stretch’s arms as he moans into his mouth. “I’m here, sweetheart,” he repeats, separating enough so he can look him in the eyes.

“good.”

Gasping, Edge is more than pleasantly surprised as Stretch urges him up further, guiding him all the way until his newly formed cunt is hovering over his lover’s face. Slyly, he licks his teeth, a wordless question and enticement all in one. Face heating, Edge groans, “Fuck, yes please.”

Barely a second later, his hands fly to the headboard, squeezing tight at that first, thorough lick. Stars, Stretch has always had a clever tongue. He uses it well, spewing stinging witticisms, whispering tender words of love, or this. 

“Fuck!” 

_Especially_ this.

Moans scattered throughout his shameless panting, Edge allows the hands on his hips to guide him as Stretch continues to eat him out. Wet magic trickles down his inner thighs, only to be licked away. Instead of returning to his pussy, though, Stretch strays further down his femur, peppering teasing kisses.

“Stretch,” he whimpers, squirming at the hot puffs of breath against the cool dampness. Trying to grind back down, he fails. Slender hands hold him up with surprising strength, aided by a strategic grasp of blue magic on his soul.

“you’re so beautiful,” Stretch murmurs, nipping lightly as Edge continues to writhe. He wants more, but it remains out of his reach as Stretch moves to his other leg. Running a finger through drenched folds, Stretch waits until Edge is looking down at him to suck it clean. “and delicious,” he adds, removing the finger from his mouth with a pop, the honeyed glow of his tongue tinted with darker red.

“Stre— _ohhhhh!_ ” Edge half sighs, half moans as his love directs his attention to his clit. He rolls his hips, letting the pleasure wash over him. Stretch’s phalanges soon join his tongue, gently scissoring him open. Those fingers move effortlessly, a pleasant stretch that leaves him yearning for more.

Edge can feel his peak arising when he finally manages to squirm his way out of Stretch’s grasp. Shimmying his way down the bed, he rests his forehead on Stretch’s ribcage, trying to ignore his body’s disappointment at the sudden lack of stimulation.

“edge?” Stretch asks, breathing heavily. Looking up, Edge sees the gleaming crimson smeared across his face, and _fuck!_ Oh fuck, that’s hot. “are you okay?”

Nodding, he pleads, “Fuck me.”

Golden eye lights flare, and Stretch flips him over. Edge grasps at his scapulae, careful that his claws don’t hurt him. Stars, he loves it when Stretch gets like this. He loves him no matter what, but knowing that his otherwise languid lover can surprise him with this kind of fierce, provocative energy? It makes his soul burn hot. 

“love you,” Stretch groans. His head dips down, lathering kisses all over Edge’s cervical vertebrae while he palms his cock. Seeing that, Edge’s inner walls clench around nothing, his mouth watering in anticipation. 

“Stretch, please!”

Above him, he grins mischievously. “what, this?” He slides his cock through the slickness of his folds, the head teasing at his clit. His body shudders with relief, hunger building. But, much to Edge’s disappointment, Stretch refuses to delve further. Instinctively, his legs slide apart, and he arches up, trying to seek more of that touch. Stretch, however, just laughs. “oh, someone’s impatient tonight.”

“Love,” Edge says, inserting as much supplication into the word as he can.

Finally, he has mercy. Slowly — too slowly — Stretch takes himself by the hand. Edge’s eye sockets squeeze shut, breathing through the pleasure at the first leisurely push inside. The glide is easy, smooth, and it scratches at the itch of arousal.

It’s not enough, though.

Voice cracking, he whines, “Faster.” 

This only gets Stretch to still completely, a gleam in his eyes as he prompts himself on his elbows, just shy of bottoming out. There he stays, bones quivering with the effort. His smile is infuriatingly smug, and damn, that shouldn’t be so sexy.

“Come on!” Edge exclaims, wrapping his legs around Stretch. “Harder, you asshole!” He tries to thrust upwards, clenching deliberately. Anything to get Stretch to keep. Fucking. Going. 

With a gasp, Stretch drops his forehead to his own. He stays firm in his resolve, though; out of all the times for his immense stubbornness to come out, this has to be among the most irksome.

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and Edge is feeling desperate as hell right now. Digging deep in his arsenal, he looks up at his fiancé with wide, hazy eye lights. “ _Papyrus_ ,” he moans. Satisfaction mounts in his soul as Stretch bites off a swear, blunt teeth fitting around his clavicle instead. The bright flare of pain merges into pleasure, a brief relief from Stretch’s teasing.

Then, before he can think of anything else to beg, Stretch suddenly pulls back until just his tip is inside him. With a single thrust, he drives back in, cock pleasantly hitting all the right places.

Mind delightfully blank, Edge can only clutch closer as Stretch continues to thoroughly wreck him. Close to his skull, the filthy melody of his love’s soft grunts sends shivers up his spine. Their mouths meet, soft magic entwining together while Edge arches up from the mattress. Because of this, his cries are muffled when gentle fingers circle his clit, their rhythm unsteady as Stretch keeps thrusting.

“you’re close, aren’t you, precious?” Nodding shakily, Edge hums a wordless response. “c’mon,” Stretch encourages him, redoubling his efforts. Tension builds up in his core, begging to be released. “let go for me.”

Oh, this part always comes too quickly. With all his might, Edge tries to keep his eyes open; he wants to see Stretch, wants to soak in the face of his lover as he brings him over the edge. But the sensations… it’s all so much and so, so good! Instead, he tilts his head up to kiss Stretch once more, losing himself in his sweetheart’s mouth.

Stretch continues fucking him through his orgasm, drawing his pleasure out as he seeks his own release. Soft words of praise warm Edge’s soul, causing him to shudder pleasantly. Finally, a wet rush of heat lets him know that his love has finished.

By the time he comes down from his high, Edge’s bones are clattering like porcelain wind chimes. Chest heaving, he covers his sockets with his arm, trying to catch his breath. “ _Fuck_ ,” he exhales slowly.

“fuck is right,” Stretch agrees. Even without looking at him, he can perfectly picture the sated expression growing on his face. He runs a hand over Edge’s scarred ribs, no longer with the intent to arouse but now to tiredly soothe. “you did so well for me, precious,” he murmurs, pausing over his sternum. Over his soul.

Edge doesn’t even need to prompt him to grab a washcloth and dunk it in the basin. Wringing it out, Stretch wipes them both clean. Not as thoroughly as Edge would have done, perhaps, but good enough for now.

Besides, Edge honestly can’t bring himself to give a shit right now.

Stretch barely gets to shove the basin of now cool water aside before Edge coaxes him into his arms. This, thankfully, requires no begging. Cuddling after lovemaking is another item in their unofficial nightly checklist; although, like the sex itself, Edge prefers to think of it as a perk.

Too tired to climb out of bed for a clean set of pyjamas, Edge simply curls up next to his fiancé’s equally bare form. Twisted on his side, he manages to wrap his arms around Stretch while resting his head against his ribs, close enough that he can hear the steady, relaxing pulse of his soul.

Words half-swallowed by a yawn, Edge gives Stretch a gentle squeeze. “I love you so much.”

“love you too, edgelord,” he responds, stroking gently over the top of his skull.

And with that, Edge’s nighttime routine is complete, and sleep comes easy.


	20. Night In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: mild language, fluff

This early in the afternoon, Grillby’s is fairly quiet.

Since coming to the Surface, Sans says that most of the regulars limit their visits to later in the day, after the typical nine to five workday. It makes sense; back Underground, schedules were a whole lot more loosey-goosey. Something about the sun’s influence really encourages monsters to stick to something a bit more structured. Then again, the fact that the rest of the human world tends to revolve around sunlight probably has a lot to do with it.

In any case, even with Sans and Red’s counter thumping, raucous laughter, Stretch can easily hear the special ping of his phone to alert him to Edge’s text.

 **sexy pants edgelord ♥:** Don’t spoil your appetite, love. I’ve got a date planned out for us tonight.

Alrighty then. With a shrug, he taps out a quick response and picks up his honey. He’s still got a few hours to go; might as well max out his enjoyment before he goes enjoy himself some more with his fiancé.

* * *

By the time he gets back home, Stretch has to question whether or not this is actually his house he shortcutted to.

Sure, the outside is the same as always: a generic house with an immaculate lawn, a newly growing garden, and cheery Gyftmas lights which stay up year-round. He can still wipe his shoes on the stoplight red welcome mat. Should he look up at the overhang, Stretch would still find the plank of wood with the tiny carving of his and Edge’s names inside a heart.

Inside, however, has been completely transformed. Lights dimmed, candlelight flickers golden shadows over the walls. Some of them must be from Edge’s ‘secret’ collection of scented ones, as there is a subtle vanilla spice wafting through. All he would need is a trail of rose petals on the carpet to reach full romantic potential; as it is, every vase they own is full of red and orange flowers.

Stretch is still busy taking in the atmosphere when Edge comes in. Without delay, he greets him with a hug. “Hello, love,” he murmurs against Stretch’s skull before pulling back. Stretch’s sockets grow wide as he takes him all in.

Adding to the list of strange albeit very welcomed sights, Edge is wearing an older outfit. His red scarf, mildly tattered and worn soft from years of wear, is wrapped around his neck with a familiar self-assured flare. His black shirt is cropped and sleeveless, allowing for a full range of motion and to show off the extent of his strong, scarred arms and the elegant curve of his spine. If he isn’t mistaken, Stretch thinks he even recognises the belt, jeans, and boots combo from the first time they met, mere minutes after being spat out into this universe. In short, Edge looks like how he used to, back in the days when he was still fully in the mindset of being Captain Papyrus the Great and Terrible and not Edge, his fierce but secretly sappy fiancé.

Before Stretch can over analyse this strange — although not unwelcome — choice in clothing choices, Edge pulls him into another warm hug. “Welcome home, he says, entwining their hands together. Right away, he directs them over to the dining room, not giving the chance for Stretch to give him a kiss. That’s okay; he can wait.

Supper is surprisingly simple. For Edge, that is. Don’t get him wrong; it’s delicious as fuck. But, other than the candlelight and soft violin music playing from a portable Bluetooth speaker, it’s honestly nothing special. Stretch has managed similar Italian dinners, albeit with the help of premade frozen garlic bread, canned alfredo sauce and someone’s supervision to make sure the pasta doesn’t die under his watch. The playlist, it does seem vaguely familiar, though.

It’s when Edge stands up to grab a brownie from the oven to share that realisation hits harder than that time he was a little too drunk and accidentally shortcutted into a brick wall.

It’s a recreation of their first date.

Stretch had planned that one. In the early days of their relationship, Edge was still so on edge (heh) in public places. To avoid that, Stretch had asked to do an ‘at home’ date. He can’t remember the exact excuse he used; probably something along the lines of wanting one on one time without the distractions of other people. All he remembers is that he was careful to make it sound like the night in was for his sake, and not Edge’s. He didn’t want him to think it was being done out of pity. Because it wasn’t; he just knew that the date would be so much better if Edge could actually enjoy himself instead of forcing himself past any discomfort of being around a bunch of strangers that he instinctively viewed as threats.

Granted, by that time, Stretch at least could understand why: a lot of Edge’s problems around that type of thing were related to his LV. Back then — and still, sometimes, although luckily to a lesser extent — he was always so concerned about it. About how it could affect him. And, in turn, how it can affect others.

It really makes cold shame run up Stretch’s spine; how many times had he antagonised — no, _tormented_ — Edge about that exact insecurity? Too many times. No matter the number, it was too often and he so desperately wishes that if he could go back and change something, he would stop himself from doing that.

“edge,” he asks, halting him from returning to the kitchen, “did you really just copy our first date?”

“It’s an _homage_ , thank you, not a copy.” Oh, seeing Edge puff up like that, hand clutched haughtily to his scarf, brings another fond pang to his soul. “Besides, I thought it would be appropriate that our first date as fiancés should mirror our first date ever.”

“awww, sappy!” Stretch teases, absolutely delighted. He stands up, squirming his way around the table to wrap his arms around Edge’s shoulders. It’s a bit trickier than he has gotten used to, considering how these boots make him a touch taller than normal, but he manages.

“Of course,” Edge adds slyly, faced flushed even as he bypasses that comment, “there are a few changes I would like to make.”

“oh?” Stretch has a feeling where Edge is going with this and consequently runs his tongue over his teeth provocatively.

Smirking, he pulls out of Stretch’s embrace. “Dessert won’t be burnt this time.”

Stretch’s jaw drops. “fuck you, it wasn’t even that burnt!”

“No,” Edge agrees, kissing him on the top of his skull, “it wasn’t. Although, I thought we could share _another_ kind of dessert, and seeing as you offered…”

With a quick detour to take the brownies out of the oven to ensure his promise of perfectly baked goodies, Edge leads them up to the bedroom. And while Stretch falls tumbling back against the bed, laughing the entire way down, he would have to say yeah, he agrees.

This is an _excellent_ change to the recreation of their first night in.


	21. A Heated Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: fluff

“that’s too much!”

Holding out his phone as proof, Edge points out in exasperation, “This is already less than half of what the recipe calls for.”

Before him and Stretch sits a pot of chili. Normally, he wouldn’t bother using a recipe for something simple like that; in Edge’s opinion, most soups, stews, and chilis can — and should — be made based on feeling and what food items are the most desperate to be used. However, in an attempt to appease his love, tonight he is going to try following a recipe.

Until this point, everything had been going fantastically well. That soon changed as soon as he brought out the spices.

“maybe, but it’s still too much for any sane person,” Stretch complains, eyeing the mix of seasonings as though they have left the pantry to spite him personally. “i _like_ being able to feel my face, thank you very much.”

It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes; stars, is Stretch’s bickering ever overdramatic! “Love, I love you, but you’re being absolutely ridiculous! This isn’t that much spice. If I don’t add them, you aren’t going to be able to taste anything.”

“i disagree.” Stretch crosses his arms, glowering with the intensity of a toddler who has missed nap time and isn’t allowed to have dessert until they finish their vegetables. Honestly, maybe sending him off for a nap would help. Goodness knows Edge won’t be able to finish making supper until this stupid argument is dealt with. _Somehow_.

“Stretch,” he pleads. The smell of food cooking, even if it is severely lacking in flavour, is sending a reminder to his magic that it has been several hours since his last meal and he’s hungry, damn it! “Please. Just try a small taste, and you’ll see.”

Exhaling the world’s biggest sigh, shoulders heaving, Stretch skeptically picks up the spoon. “ _fiiiiiiiiiinnnnnne._ but when my tongue is burnt out of my mouth, you’re the one taking me to the hospital.”

“That’s fine by me.”

Grudgingly, Stretch blows on the spoon, urging the steam away. By the petulant dismay covering his face, one would think that he was cheated out of his last meal on death row. Ever so slowly, he brings the spoonful of chili up to his mouth. Shuddering, he takes a small bite.

That is the last thing Edge sees before Stretch disappears to the other side of the kitchen in a shortcut. Sockets wide and watering, he shoves his way through the fridge. His chaotic destruction of their shelves only comes to an end once he grabs the full carton of milk. In any other circumstance, his horrified expression would bring a great deal of concern to Edge’s soul. Now, though, he can only watch in bemusement as Stretch guzzles a week’s worth of milk.

“Honestly, love,” Edge mutters, shaking his head. Curiously, he tries a spoonful of his own. Yes, it does have a bite, but it’s nothing to call home about.

Regardless, it would be cruel to subject Stretch to this chili — if not for him, then for Edge, who will have to deal with him for the rest of the night. Pouring the remaining spices into the pot, he covers it with a lid and goes to grab a plate. A peanut butter and honey sandwich should hopefully serve as an apology for now. As soon as Stretch is capable of speech, he can ask what else he might want to eat.

Clearly, one of their sets of taste buds must be messed up. However, considering how they have already had quite the heated argument (which is a pun he might _possibly_ be willing to share with Stretch to help him feel better), that’s a matter of debate to leave for a later date.


	22. Double Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: brief mild suggestive content

Edge doesn't have a bucket list. The notion of one brings him mixed feelings. He can understand the desire to want to accomplish certain things before death, as well as the idea of planning it all out. In some ways, this is how he had lived his life back in Underfell; back then, he had the goal of becoming a Guardsman, and he had his rise through the ranks planned out before he was anywhere near being out of stripes. But on the other hand, considering the sheer amount of stories he has heard from humans, it sounds as though those lists are full of trivial things that tend to remain unchecked. After all, when one lives with the assumption that death is something far in the future, there is less pressure to complete things in a timely manner. Plus, to be completely frank, Edge has spent the majority of his life expecting death to be nipping at his heels; it would be nice to not have to think about it, and he knows having a bucket list would cause him to do exactly that.

So, Edge doesn’t have a bucket list. But if he did, he could officially check off ‘resisting the urge to commit fratricide during an unintentional double date’ from it. 

Hopefully.

He will have to see how the rest of the evening pans out first.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Originally, the evening out had been planned as a bonding opportunity for all the other skeletons. They had barely all been in this universe for a week before the suggestion for regularly scheduled bonding time had come up. In the years since then, Blue and Papyrus have been particularly adamant on keeping them, expanding from the stiff dinners of burnt pasta to actual outings like these.

It just stands to reason, of course, that the universe would have the cruel sense of humour to make it that it is precisely the two skeletons who organised tonight’s trip to the bar that couldn’t make it.

They both have their excuses. Valid ones, admittedly. Papyrus is busy acting as Undyne’s impulse control while Alphys is out of town on an important science conference. What Edge would like to know is, who is acting as Papyrus’ impulse control? Either way, no one has gotten a call from the fire department yet, so things must be going better than last time. Meanwhile, Blue had a work emergency and is running late. Really late. Asgore’s hairy ass, why does he have to be so late? And because of his tardiness, Edge and Stretch are alone with the trouble twins and their insipid flirting.

Stars above, if it wasn’t so unsanitary, Edge would be banging his head against the bar counter.

Sans and Red are disgusting — not that this should be surprising by this point in Edge’s life. He has had a lifetime of nauseating behaviour from his older brother to teach him that fact, and this is sadly one of those similarities which passed onto his alternate. But the constant sniping, the insults veering just shy of either physical violence or a violent make out session… is this how everyone felt about him and Stretch before they got together? If so, he has a mountain’s worth of apology letters to start writing.

Speaking of his beloved fiancé, he will quite probably end up sleeping on the couch tonight if he keeps egging them on. The last thing those two need is motivation to put on more of a show. Yet, Stretch is more than willing to be both an audience and a source of potential material. As of the moment, it appears that Edge is the only adult of the group, and he is heartily regretting coming here.

Finally, the bartender passes by. Done with it all, Edge begs, “A refill on my drink, please. And make it strong.”

“babe?” Stretch says, giving him a surprised look. When Edge doesn’t answer, though, he chugs back his drink and returns to heckling the not-quite-lovers.

At least if Edge can’t appreciate the company or the entertainment of the night, he can appreciate the view beside him.

Stretch was in a good mood today. For once, that mood didn’t include swimmingly large hoodies, cozy and comfortable but not very flattering. Instead, he stuck to a simple tank top, clinging gently to his delicate frame. The deep cinnamon of the fabric complements his magic perfectly; contrasting strongly against the natural ivory tone of his bones while harmonising with the warmth of his magic. Under the strange combination of flashing neon and dimmed fluorescent lighting, those very bones glow almost ethereally.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Perhaps later, the alcohol will persuade him to join Stretch on the dance floor. Such public displays may not be his cup of tea, but the reward of getting to hold those bones close as they gleam with a thin film of sweat. Showing off to the rest of the bar that Stretch is his and he is Stretch’s… that would make it all more than worth it.

Besides, anything that means getting away from Sans and Red’s weird, angry pun-based mating ritual is a win in Edge’s books.

“hey sansy,” Red drawls, swirling the contents of what could generously be called his drink around. “really chowing down on that hot dog there, ain'tcha?" Smirking, he gives Sans a hooded gaze. "how's 'bout i give you a better one.” And ugh, no, Edge does not need _that_ mental image of his awful goblin of an older brother, please and thank you.

Rising abruptly to his feet, he reaches out a hand. "Stretch, come with me." Suddenly, the idea of the dance floor sounds a lot more appealing.

Eye lights sparkling, Stretch looks Edge up and down. He downs the rest of his drink and jumps off of his barstool, right into Edge's arms with an inelegant grunt. "sure thing, lover. whatever you want."

"I want you," Edge murmurs against his skull.

And if he also wants to get out of this double date, well… all that matters is that he gets out of it with Stretch.


	23. Morning Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: fluff

It’s early.

Not the normal person kind of early. Normal person early means sunshine pouring through the window and snooze being hit on the alarm clock as much as possible. Normal person early means schlumping out of the sanctuary of blankets and pillows, desperate for liquid caffeine and toothpaste to get rid of morning breath — although definitely not back to back.

No, this is Edge early. Edge early is far before even roosters dream of rousing. Snooze buttons don’t exist in the realm of Edge early, nor do most alarms in general; artificial means of waking up aren’t a necessity in Edge early. Coffee is less for the life-giving properties and more for the roasty toasty flavour. Technically speaking, Edge early still counts as nighttime according to most popular classifications.

At least both normal person early and Edge early has coffee involved.

These days, Edge early has been blending into Stretch early. It shouldn’t be too surprising. Sharing a home and a bed with a person can be rather enlightening to their morning routine, even if there is no light for that routine to be seen. Even though he might be mostly sleeping, Stretch can still blearily observe the beginnings of his fiancé’s productivity.

Each day, it starts with a shifting on Edge’s side of the bed. For someone as firm and stoic as his babe, he can be a downright squirmy wormy when he wakes up. This, of course, is the catalyst for Stretch to partially leave the land of the snooze. He may be able to sleep through a lot, but some mornings, it really seems like Edge is trying to compete for his name in this universe based on some of the contortions he goes through.

After that is completed, Stretch is treated to the sight of Edge fumbling through their closet in the dark. Most of the time, this is also where Stretch gives up on being awake. Today, though, he gets the full show. Ever the overachiever, Edge selects not one outfit, but two: one for his morning run and one for going to work.

That, of course, is why Edge gets up so early. Especially now that they are on the Surface, he needs to take the time to work off some of his excessive energy. Stretch doesn’t mind too much; sometimes, he gets to be the recipient of that energy, and boy oh boy, those are the _good_ mornings. Plus, even if he didn’t do early morning workouts, Edge will always be the first one who needs to leave in the mornings. Taking shortcuts may be the lazybones way out, but it’s definitely an advantage over having to rely on non-instantaneous modes of transportation all the time.

Clothes chosen, the logical next step is for Edge to get dressed. As Stretch likes to think of it, this is the reason why he decided to keep watching. If he had any energy to spare, he would try to summon Edge back into bed. As it is, he has to struggle against the increasing heaviness of his eyelids, the fuzziness of tiredness to observe. Granted, it isn’t the greatest view — between the darkness in the room and the swift efficiency in which Edge strips himself of his pyjamas — but that won’t stop Stretch from enjoying every moment. Each flash of scarred bone is a special treasure, something to be remembered while he gets his last smattering of sleep.

Before he knows it, Stretch finds his spectatorship coming to an end. Sleep is beckoning once more and unlike his fiancé, his morning routine isn’t scheduled to start for another hour or three. The last thing he remembers is a kiss on his cheek, a whispered, “Sleep well, love,” and a secret wish for Edge to come back soon.


	24. Shopping (For Needs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: fluff

Strategy is something at which Edge used to excel. 

Back in his Snowdin, it was one of the things that allowed him to lead the Dog squadron before he was properly out of stripes, despite their years of seniority over him. It is what helped him rise in the ranks, becoming Undyne's second before he knew it. Thanks to strategical thinking, he found ways to reform Snowdin, to make the town at least a little safer for its most vulnerable residents.

Why he can't tap into his abilities to grocery shop with his fiancé, however, is a question he feels he will be pondering for the next month and a half.

"Stretch," Edge sighs, pushing the cart determinedly, "I love you, but no."

Pouting, Stretch puts the brightly coloured box of tooth rot back on the shelf — only to grab a new one half a second later. "fine. then how about —"

"No," he repeats, more firmly this time. Box shoved away from the inside of the cart, he holds a slip of paper over his shoulder. "Do you see it on the list?"

"noooooo…" 

"Then it's not happening."

To lessen the weight of Stretch's disappointment, Edge turns around and clasps his hand. Stretch squeezes back, a simple pattern they came up with far too late one night. It seemed ideal, using a Morse code acronym; Stretch had taught himself the alphabet as a teen to mess around with some old tech he had found, and Edge had been required to master it, among many other code systems, back in his days serving the Guard. It may be a bit more complicated than simply saying the words, but that might be some of the appeal; telling Stretch 'I love you' by squeezing the Morse code for the first letters of each word is more than worth it for Edge.

Satisfied with the small grin that grows on his love's face halfway through the third squeeze, Edge feels safe to remind him, "We're already running late, love, and we still need to get the groceries home. Today we have to stick to the list, or else we won't have time to actually get everything we need. Next time, I promise we can stay as long as you want."

Not wanting to break out in a yelling match in aisle five, he chooses to ignore Stretch's bitter comments that, "next time i won't even want to fucking go," and "it was only some fun cereal, edgelord," and "i thought you of all people would know how to live life on the _edge._ "

He is extra proud of ignoring that last one.

Altogether, it isn't like he can blame Stretch. Past experience has taught him that when he's hungry, his impulsivity skyrockets. And needless to say, when he is hungry and impulsive, being surrounded by shelf after shelf after shelf of food… well, let's just say it isn't very surprising that he can't concentrate on the task at hand.

If Edge was being fully strategic, he would have turned Stretch down when he offered to come instead of waiting in the car. Even if he wasn't a lovely, hungry disaster, his love isn't exactly the fastest. Yes, he has his shortcuts — and a rather remarkable height with wonderfully long legs — but he enjoys taking his time, walking with a slumped, snail-like glide.

However, the moment he turned to Edge, eye lights bright and sparkling, and hesitantly asked if he could join him, there was only one answer to be made. His love wanted to spend time with him, and that is an offer Edge can never refuse. Never, not within a thousand lifetimes.

Even if it means heading Stretch away from unnecessary purchases at every turn. 

Miraculously, they reach the end of the breakfast foods. Finally; Edge was starting to wonder if they would ever leave. Just as he starts turning the corner, something catches his attention. 

At his side, Stretch has been chattering away, his thoughts going off in a million directions. None of those directions have been ideas for impulse purchases — not even when they passed the little hanging display of weirdly shaped straws. Because of this, it would have been easy to miss the way his gaze wandered longingly off to the dinosaur oatmeal.

Edge doesn't find it the least bit surprising that he does. 

Some things in the various universes remained consistent across the board. Between swapped natures and varying levels of violence, Underfell and Underswap were practically direct opposites. Somehow, oddly enough, prepackaged dinosaur oatmeal was one of the things Edge and Stretch had in common besides their names. The sweet, almost dessert-like treat is rather nostalgic for them both, a reminder of the good times in their old worlds.

Glancing at his list, Edge comes to a decision.

"Stretch?" He taps him on the shoulder, regrettably cutting him off mid-rant about how pointless the letter 'c' is in English. "Could you do me a favour and grab a carton of milk while I get started on the frozen section?"

"sure thing."

"Don't forget to check the expiration date!" Edge calls just before he shortcuts off.

Excellent.

Now that Stretch is gone, he has to be quick with his plan. Backtracking a few steps, Edge grabs a few boxes of dinosaur oatmeal and places them in the bottom of the cart. Just to be sure, he adds in a few more.

They may not be a _need_ , strictly speaking. However, he knows it will make Stretch happy, and that is something Edge needs in his life all the time.


	25. I Love You’s*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E  
> Other tags/warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff

Stars above, Stretch loves Edge so much.

This, of course, is a pretty common train of thought for him. If anything, it could almost be described as something in his subconscious, just as natural as the impulse to breathe on a regular basis. In fact, it might even be more natural than that; as a skeleton made of magic, breathing isn’t much of a necessity as it is a recommendation for his magic to circulate better.

The point is, Stretch is a sappy romantic who experiences some pretty strong feelings of affection for his sexy fiancé. And that, dear friends, is why he looks up at Edge with wide eye lights, holding his arms up pleadingly.

“piggyback me?”

Edge doesn’t pause from where he had been straightening up the stack of coasters. Scoffing, he says, “You have legs, Stretch. I’m sure you can use them.”

“i could,” he agrees, “but i want a piggyback.” For good measure, he wiggles his best grabby hands. Stretch knows that Edge is going to fold, but he would also like to speed up the decision process, thanks.

In the earlier days of their relationship, Edge wasn't exactly the best with sharing a certain three word phrase. That doesn't mean that Stretch couldn't tell that he still felt that way — he can be dense, sometimes, but not _that_ dense. To make up for it, Edge the Action Hero used to try other ways to show the depths of his affections.

At first, that meant a lot of food. Dating Edge used to be like going out with a walking, talking vending machine who didn't require quarters. All Stretch would have to do is think about a specific food, and Edge would be right there, ready to play master chef for him. It was sweet — and not just metaphorically speaking. 

Then, of course, came some of the more classic methods. Edge may not wear his Royal Guard armour anymore, but he certainly has kept on with the chivalry of a true knight. Anything that he could do, he would make sure it happened. If Stretch’s feet were sore, not only would Edge give his footsies a nice massage, he would throw in a full pedicure with it. If he noticed a fun plushy at the fairgrounds, Edge would be first in line to throw a beanbag at a stack of empty bottles to win it for him. All these and more were how his sweetheart would show his love.

From his part, Stretch was a big fan of showing the love through some of that nice physical affection. He still is, even now that those three words fall easily at any time. His edgelord needs it, after all, and it’s far from a lose-lose. 

The piggyback, as he has since discovered, is an ideal solution when it comes to putting their love into action: Edge gets to be the big, strong caretaker and Stretch gets to give as many hugs and kisses as he can. Both of them are more than happy with their portable cuddle method.

As per plan, Edge rolls his eyes indulgently and scoops him up. At his height, getting piggybacks is always an amusingly gangly sight. Limbs folded into weird angles, Stretch often ends up ducking to avoid doorway decapitation. At least with Edge, the whole thing looks slightly less ridiculous; his fiancé’s eternal stoicism goes a long way.

Settling in, Stretch rests his head against a soft red scarf and sighs contentedly. This is the good shit. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and smiles when he feels Edge relax along with him.

“what are we doing tonight?”

Edge turns his head to nuzzle lightly at the side of his skull. Warm fireworks go off in Stretch’s soul, bursting in happiness. “Whatever you want, love.”

Ahhhhh… he can never get tired of hearing Edge call him that. Just for this, he initiates another kiss. Deeper, this time, with a slight thrill that comes from neither of them being one hundred percent sure of where Edge is walking.

Eventually, Edge pulls away. A vivid flush covers his cheekbones, and his eye lights are slightly hazy even as he starts up the stairs. “You’re in a mood today,” he observes, a near laugh colouring his tone. 

Yet another way that Stretch knows how much Edge loves him. He can be so guarded, another scar from Underfell that he doubts will ever heal. Because of this, he used to think that Edge was always so angry. Mistaking his tendency to shut himself off for a frigid, hateful temperament… Well, needless to say, Stretch regrets his past actions. At the time he might not have known, but that's no excuse; what he did made it even harder for Edge to feel safe sharing his ‘fragilities’ with Stretch. But now? Now he does, and Stretch couldn’t be happier.

“i’m always in a mood when i’m with you.” Just to be a brat, he blows a raspberry against Edge’s neck. Jumping in disgust — and because his baby is more than a little bit ticklish — he waits to regain his balance before lightly flicking Stretch on the forehead. It barely makes a thunk, he does it so lightly. That, of course, just goes to show how much Edge secretly loves it. “consider yourself lucky that it’s always a good mood.”

With all the mock solemnity in the world, he kicks their bedroom door shut behind them and replies, “Yes. Angel forbid that I see you in less than the best of moods.”

“glad to see we agree,” Stretch laughs. 

Turning around, Edge leans back to let him fall onto the bed. At the last second, Stretch pulls at his shoulders, rolling over so that he doesn’t have to deal with the edgelord’s more solid bones crashing against his own. Still, Stretch expects a scolding. Something along the lines of how he is ‘putting himself in danger’ and how he ‘needs to be careful’ because of his ‘low HP’ and blah blah blah, mood ruined by Stretch trying to be teasing. 

It comes as a pleasant surprise, then, when Edge goes straight for the honey. He follows Stretch’s movement, smoothly rolling on top of him, and oh yes, he is one hundred and twenty percent down with this plan. Opening his mouth, his eyes fall shut as Edge meets him halfway for the kiss. Ahhhhhh, yes. On the off-chance he ever meets a genie who is willing to grant him a wish, no strings attached, this would without a doubt be the first thing on his list. 

Stretch could spend hours losing himself in the warm spice of Edge’s mouth. It’s addictive in the best sense of the word, always leaving him hungry for more. Luckily for him, Edge is more than willing to oblige. 

Sighing contentedly against him, Stretch melts against the mattress. He pulls his sweetheart down with him, his startled laugh smothered when Edge pins his wrists down. Very promising. He doesn't fight it. Not today, anyway; sometimes, the extra effort of putting up some resistance is more than worth the resulting benefits. 

As soon as it's obvious that Stretch has no intention of moving his hands, Edge pulls back, eye lights blazing. “Love you,” he says fiercely. His gloved hands clutch at Stretch’s back through the fabric of his hoodie. “I love you, precious.”

“right back at ya, gollum,” Stretch snorts, only to be silenced once more. 

Worth it.

Edge is devoting himself to kissing him stupid. Or he just wants to keep Stretch from making stupid, snarky comments. Right now, it’s hard to tell. Either way the coin lands, it makes Stretch stupid — and more precisely, stupidly in love with Edge. His inner romantic, however, chooses to believe that the former is the case rather than the latter. And boy howdy, is he ever doing a good job of it. 

Gone is the edgelord from the early days of their relationship, the one who was so timid when it came to kissing. Back then, he was always so painfully careful, overthinking his every move out of fear of harming him in any way. Convincing him to share even a chaste kiss goodnight used to be a struggle. 

No, this is an entirely different Edge in that aspect. Each move he makes speaks of full confidence in his abilities and a profound knowledge of Stretch and every single one of his weak spots. It’s natural, now. Intuitive. And while he can’t speak definitively for his fiancé, Stretch can confidently say that he isn’t thinking too much about anything other than how to mold himself closer to his love.

Pale evening light filters through their bedroom curtains. It illuminates Edge from behind, giving his skull a slight halo. It suits him; even if his sweetheart might not believe it, Stretch thinks he’s more wonderful than any angel that he had ever learned of growing up. Beyond that, the remaining sunlight tells him that it’s still early. But hey: that just means they have all the more time to enjoy themselves.

And they do. They very much do.

The shift from blissful, languid kissing to something a bit steamier is a smooth slope. Clinging close to him, Stretch finds himself breathing heavily as their tongues curl against each other, hips rolling up to grind against Edge. His face feels like it's burning. Judging on the vibrant flush burning high on his sweetheart’s cheekbones, he wouldn’t be surprised if it is.

Arms draped around Stretch’s shoulders, Edge rests his forehead against his own. “Should we continue?” he asks roughly, licking his teeth.

“fuck yes,” he breathes out, a new spark of eagerness running through him.

“Excellent.” 

With that, his head ducks down, navigating easily to Stretch’s clavicle. Edge nudges the fabric of his hoodie out of the way with his chin, which allows him to wrap his teeth around the delicate bone. At first, the bite is gentle, barely any pressure put into it. But at the sound of Stretch’s soft moan, Edge becomes a little more enthusiastic; although it may not be to the point of drawing marrow, he is pretty sure that he will wake up to a pretty little bruise tomorrow, a mark of his edgelord’s affections.

Voice cracking the slightest bit, Stretch says, “let’s get these clothes out of the way, huh?”

“Gladly.”

Slowly shedding their clothes proves to be a tad more difficult than it should be. To be fair, most things tend to get harder (heh) when Edge is busy tasting him. The worst is when Stretch tries shucking off his hoodie. Thanks to his current position — and Edge being too determined in his endeavor of kissing him senseless to give him any space — it gets stuck halfway off his arms.

“give a guy a hand here?”

“Just a hand?” he asks, a small smirk on his face as he very purposefully shifts his hips down. “Or maybe something else too?”

Stretch pauses, torn between chuckling and rolling his eyes; he ends up settling for both. “babe, you know how sexy it is when you pun, but now’s not really the best time.”

Thankfully, Edge obliges him, pulling the hoodie off him in one swift tug before ducking back down to make out. This frees Stretch to get started on peeling off Edge’s stupid pants. It’s a real process, frustrating as hell. He would complain, but his mouth is otherwise occupied at the moment.

Plus, Stretch can admit that he really digs the things those pants do to his legs, okay?

Stretch loses himself in Edge’s mouth, concentrating on nothing other than the way Edge’s tongue curls around his, the breathless way he feels. Eventually, he is forced to separate. Sucking in a deep breath, he moans, “ohhhhhhhh, _edge_ , i —”

Edge silences him before he can even think of finishing that thought. Then, he slowly makes his way down, nibbling at Stretch’s jaw. Here he stays.

“i’m flattered,” he laughs, reaching up to pet encouragingly at Edge’s skull, “but i hate to break it to you, babe: bones aren’t exactly that filling if you’re feeling hungry.”

“I’ll show you hungry,” he retorts, a welcomed ‘threat’. Immediately, Edge goes for the neck, focusing on the spinous processes. And oh, this is the good stuff.

Only a few years ago, if someone were to tell Stretch that someday, Edge coming after him with those knife-sharp chompers of his would be a non-verbal declaration of love, he would immediately dismiss them as a liar. But here he is now, arching up into those featherlight bites. Urging Edge to mark him up some more as he claws against the back of his ribs, desperate for more. Coming completely undone beneath him, and loving every single second of it.

Edge pulls away, sitting across from Stretch and resting on his knees. Eye lights gleaming, he smiles down at him, unfairly gorgeous. Stars, Stretch adores him. "Touch yourself for me, love?"

Hands shaking, he begins running them over his bare bones before he even thinks of nodding. Feeling Edge’s avid gaze, he makes his way down to his pelvis, fingers trailing lightly. Stretch can already feel the heat of his unformed magic, making him itch for more, when Edge stops him.

“Don’t form anything,” he says hoarsely. His own hands are echoing Stretch’s every movement, crimson glowing at his joints as he groans unashamedly.

“fuuuuuuuck,” Stretch shudders, cluing in to where his fiancé is going with this. 

Without delay, he moves back up to fondle his floating ribs. Entranced, he watches as Edge does the same. A flick of the wrist. A rolled pinch right at the end, massaging it gently. Edge nearly folds over, groaning; those ones have always been unreasonably sensitive for his lover, and Stretch isn’t ashamed of taking advantage of it to work him up as much as possible. Sure, it might be a mutual sabotage, but it will be so, _so_ worth it.

Stretch is sure of it.

With all the dwindling brain power he has, Stretch does his best to make this as good as he can for the both of them. He focuses on Edge’s strong, sturdy, sexy bones. The curve of his ribs, pitted with chips and raised remodeling in a unique mosaic… so fucking hot. Stars, he’s gorgeous. All Stretch can hope is that he is giving Edge a fraction of the show that he is getting himself.

He dares his fingers to wander back down into the pooling heat in his pelvis, gasping at the _too much_ sensation of touching raw magic. His eyes fall shut and he can’t help but gasps. It’s more than worth it, though; the moment he opens his eyes, he is treated to the sight of Edge coming apart along with him.

Finally, Stretch can't resist any longer. Tears building in dry sockets from thoroughly watching him, he begs, " _please_ , edge. i need you."

In response, Edge opens his arms, a clear invitation. Hell yeah. Stretch doesn’t waste a second in drawing nearer, going as far as considering taking a shortcut the few inches over to him. Rearranging himself, he kneels on the mattress, putting him back to being eye-to-eye with Edge. With all those tempting bones within reach, Stretch quickly grasps his sweetheart’s hips. He shivers when smooth leather moves over his own iliac crests; clearly, somebody is still having fun playing copycat.

Neither of them end up forming anything. They don’t need to. Between the sensitivity of their bones and the near overstimulation of touching unformed ecto, they cling to each other, gasps and moans filling the bedroom. In a way, it’s strangely intimate; this way, they are able to get that much closer to each other. 

Stretch can feel Edge’s hips jerk into his hands — tiny twitches, becoming more and more noticeable — and knows that Edge can probably feel him do the same. Getting close to the brink, Stretch reaches back to tweak Edge’s coccyx, the last tool in his arsenal of good ways to make him come.

It does the trick. The magic swirling around his pelvic girdle brightens, practically sparkling. Stretch pushes more intent to please into his touch, eager to watch his fiancé lose himself completely. The way his face is flushed, glowing just as bright as the magic in his pelvis. Panting, teeth slightly parted and begging for a kiss. In fact, with that in mind, Stretch closes the distance between them, savouring the way Edge moans into his mouth.

Suddenly, Stretch chokes on a gasp. Somehow without him noticing, Edge managed to reach his hand around — and take his glove off? — to tease at his sacral foramina. And _oh_! Oh, somebody is on top of his game, even now. Completely unfair, especially since that slight touch is enough to make him lose any attempts at higher thinking. 

Stretch honestly couldn’t say who comes first: him or Edge? All he knows is that the burst of their magic lingers, almost like mini fireworks of pale orange and deep red. They both sag down on their knees, leaning in to embrace the other. Edge’s bones are still so warm. Panting, Stretch lets his head fall against the crook of his neck.

Utterly breathless, Edge mutters, “Wowie.” Stretch chuckles quietly, pressing a few kisses against his cervical vertebrae.

Lacking the energy to do anything else, Stretch flops back against the pillows, tugging Edge with him. Edge snorts — which is basically a full-out belly laugh for him — and snuggles closer.

Curled up on Edge’s chest, Stretch can’t bring himself to reach down properly for the sheets. Instead, he drags them over their sweat-cooled bodies with a quick application of blue magic, nuzzling in. Sleepy and sated, he just wants to be close to him.

“i love you,” he mumbles through a yawn.

Tiredly, Edge pets his skull. “I love you too.”

And that's the truth.


	26. Doctor Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, discomfort and anxiety around doctor's visits

The waiting room is painfully quiet.

When calling the clinic, Edge had made sure to book the earliest appointment possible. As much of his love prefers sleeping the morning away, this is better. Kinder. Less busy, with a higher chance of them being able to get in and out of the appointment without a long wait.

The only sound, really, is that of Stretch’s bones clattering. Legs bouncing and jittering a mile a minute, he has one hand holding Edge’s and the other hovering too close to his mouth; rarely does his childhood habit of chewing the tips of his distal phalanges show up, but when it does, it is telling of his mental state. His sweetheart must be feeling so anxious.

“Stretch, love,” he murmurs, trying to get his attention. It works, even if Stretch snaps his neck around to look at him in a way that makes his own cervical vertebrae ache in sympathy. His pale eye lights are frantic. They dart around in a way that reminds Edge of his old home, of the way monsters always had to be perfectly aware of their surroundings. Or else.

His soul clenches for him.

Today is just a routine visit. Neither of them have any concerns, but even Stretch can admit that it has been far too long since anyone has performed anything more than a normal Check on him. Especially when considering his low HP.

Since arriving in this universe, the only times Stretch has gone to a doctor was because of urgent situations, when he was too sick to justify resting at home. The first time it happened — before they were truly civil around each other, let alone in a relationship — Edge had only heard about it through Blue. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of the situation. Although worried — understandable, really, considering that his older brother had been rushed to the hospital — Blue had been rather tight-lipped about everything.

The next time it had happened, Edge was there.

Blue was out of town when Edge got the call from Stretch. They still weren’t close back then, but what other choice was there? Papyrus was with Blue, which only left Edge, Red, and Sans — the latter two being too risky thanks to their equally abysmal HP. With that knowledge, Edge had grabbed his keys to pick Stretch up and rush him to the hospital.

It was an enlightening experience, to say the least. 

The moment Edge pulled up to Stretch’s house, he was given the awful sight of his alternate curled up in a ball on his front porch. His shaking was visible from a distance, and even if Edge had incorrectly explained it away as chills rather than nerves at the time, it was still concerning. The entire drive to the hospital, Stretch had been too quiet. And when the nurse started to wheel him away for testing, Edge ended up staying with him, solemnly promising himself to protect Stretch in whatever way he could.

So, yes, today may just be a routine visit to the doctor, but for Stretch… there’s something more there. Something that isn’t good. But be that as it may, Edge won’t force his love to relive whatever that something was by prying for answers. Should Stretch ever wish to tell him, he can do it when he is ready, and not a second before.

Squeezing his hand in what he hopes comes across as comforting, Edge keeps his voice as light as possible. “I was thinking about going for an early lunch after this,” he says softly. “Do you have any preferences?”

Stretch shakes his head. “dunno.”

Edge squeezes his hand tighter. “Think about it. And if there’s anywhere else you’d like to go while we’re out. We have time.” 

That, and his love needs a distraction, something to help him unwind. Anything is better than sitting here waiting. Edge cannot allow himself to sit by idly when Stretch is only becoming more and more nervous. If something small like figuring out where to eat out will help his fiancé take his mind off of his appointment, Edge will consider it a success.

Edge takes a deep breath, only to frown. There is something about the way that doctors’ offices smell that is simply unsettling — and not just for Stretch. Typically, he would like to consider himself a clean freak, for better or for worse, but whatever disinfectants are used in these places make his magic want to churn.

Mentally, Edge can admit to having his own discomfort around doctors. It’s nothing compared to Stretch, but overall, life tends to be better when he can avoid them. He doesn’t know why, though. Now that he thinks of it, he can’t recall ever visiting any before arriving in this universe. How odd.

Maybe it is the whole up-close and personal nature of seeing a doctor, forcing him to trust his literal life in the hands of a complete stranger. Maybe…

“edge?” Stretch whispers, his voice shaky. “what’s going on?”

“Hmmm?” Shaking his head, he tries to regain his train of thought. Nothing. It must not have been important. He presses a kiss against the back of Stretch’s hand. “Nothing, love. I was just a bit lost in thought.”

“oh.”

A few more minutes pass, Edge’s impatience growing by the second. He just wants to get this done and over with, for Stretch’s sake. Focusing his eyes on the various posters around the waiting room only makes matters worse; with each one, he can find more and more reasons for his love to be freaking out. He tries to burn up one in particular with his gaze, but to no avail. Damn it.

A phone rings at the reception and Stretch jumps. That settles it. Careful to keep hold of Stretch’s hand, Edge stands up. Feeling Stretch’s eyes trace his every move, he makes his way in front of him. Thankfully, the chairs here are fairly wide, making it easy to fit two grown skeletons beside each other. 

Almost immediately, Stretch inches closer, making a small noise at the back of his throat. Edge encourages him; he opens his arms wide, giving his love ample space to climb onto his lap. Stretch curls up right against his ribs. Hesitantly, he tugs at Edge’s sleeves. _Ah_. 

“Better, love?” he asks, wrapping his arms around him. Ignoring the odd look coming from the receptionist, he sways their bodies from side to side. Stretch releases a watery sigh.

“a little.”

Good.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for the nurse to come and call Stretch’s name. Edge helps him up, staying close as they make their way to Stretch’s appointment. 

He may not be able to make his hurts or fears go away, but he will always be there for him.


	27. Cooking Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Other tags/warnings: pure domestic fluff

“why the fuck do the abbreviations for tablespoon and teaspoon have to be so similar?”

It isn’t the first time Stretch had wondered this today, and somehow he has a feeling it won’t be his last. 

Cooking has never been his thing. Never has, probably never will be. It was a blessing when his bro took an interest in cooking at a young age — even if his early cuisine was only almost edible. In general, the less time he spends around the oven, the better. End of story.

Now, though? This is different.

Glaring at the recipe on his phone, Stretch shortcuts to the pantry and tries to parse out where Edge keeps the parsley. Supper needs to be perfect. Absolutely perfect, just for Edge.

The thing is, his sweetheart always works so hard. After a long day’s work to make the world a better place, he comes home and makes both of them food, always. And while it’s true that Edge enjoys what he does — and Stretch very much appreciates that fact, honest he does — he deserves a treat. Everybody needs to rest sometimes, and Edge more than deserves it. 

That’s why Stretch is trying his best to make his fiancé a damn good supper. 

Carefully, he shuffles through each shelf of spices. He _knows_ Edge has a system; the problem is, he still hasn’t figured out what, exactly, that system is. All he can tell is that wherever he thinks something is, it will never be there. Case in point: Stretch has a vague memory of Edge telling him that he moved the parsley up a few shelves since starting his garden, as now he buys the dried stuff in smaller amounts since he can get it fresh from the window sill. But, here he is, still checking all the higher shelves, and no parsley. Not even a pinch of it. The closest he can get is the peppermint extract, and that’s only based on the logic that both things start with the same letter. 

“c’mere, you lil bitch,” he mutters half under his breath, throwing in a few swears for extra seasoning when he bumps his head. Again.

“And what do you think you’re doing in _my_ kitchen?”

Thoroughly startled, Stretch jumps, knocking down half a row of spices in the process. “holy shit, babe! warn a guy!” he exclaims, turning around. He doesn’t bother fixing all those spices; angel knows he won’t be able to put them back properly no matter how hard he tries. Although, the parsley falling right onto his foot is weirdly convenient. Still no clue where it came from, though.

Arching a brow bone, Edge leans against the counter. “Next time, perhaps, but that still doesn’t explain what you are up to in here.”

“nothing?” And wow, who knew that brow could get even higher on his skull? Impressive. Sighing, Stretch admits, “it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“You rearranging my pantry? Love, I can usually get behind your surprises, but this isn’t one of them.”

“no, i’d never mess with that, babe.” He smiles sheepishly. “well, not on purpose, that is. promise. i... i just wanted to make supper for you. well, both of us, but _for_ you — _oof!_ ”

How Edge can advance so quickly without shortcuts will always be a mystery to Stretch. Not that he is complaining. After all, if it weren’t for that unnatural speed, Stretch wouldn’t get to enjoy this enveloping hug, so tight and filled with love.

“You didn’t need to do that, love,” Edge murmurs, nuzzling against Stretch’s cervical vertebrae.

“i know… i just thought it might be nice to let you relax and all for once.” Huffing out a bitter laugh, he adds, “so much for that, huh?”

Edge pulls back, looking around the kitchen. Before Stretch can process any disappointment about that change, Edge tightens the hug and asks, “What’s all left to be done?”

“uh... well, i finished the salad — although i left the dressing to be added later because i know your opinions on soggy salad — and it’s sitting in the fridge. the garlic bread’s also ready to go. it just needs a few minutes to reheat in the oven, but yeah. oh, and i have almost everything i need out for the lasagne, unless i’m misreading the ingredients on the recipe.”

“Excellent.” Placing a quick kiss on the edge of Stretch’s nasal bone, he says, “Let me get changed, and we can get started.”

“babe?!”

But he’s off again. So much for making something nice for Edge. 

Feeling defeated, Stretch steps out of the pantry, container of parsley in hand. The least he can do is try to get everything else ready for Edge. Finish getting everything out and organised and yeah, this might not even be the recipe that he uses but it's still an attempt. Gold star for him.

Before long, Edge makes his return, looking as delectable as ever in his so-called ‘grub’ clothes. Then again, when ‘grub’ clothes consist of blue jeans, not as bone tight as his normal shellacked on pairs and worn until the denim is comfortably soft, and a plain pullover, it’s hard for his love not to look handsome. Stretch watches appreciatively as he puts an apron over top, the ties around the waist accentuating the definition of his broad ribcage. Stars, Stretch loves his fiancé so much.

“So, love, as chef de cuisine today, you’re in charge. What do you want me to do?”

Stretch blinks, perplexed. “huh?”

“You said you wanted to make supper, Stretch. Since I’m home early, I thought maybe we could cook together. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he adds in a rush.

“i’m sure we could make it work,” Stretch huffs halfheartedly, although he is certain that Edge can see the relief in his smile. “if it means i can spend more time with you, i gueeeeeeeeeeess it’s worth it. um, if you wanna start dealing with the meat? and i can… chop the veggies and grate the cheese?” Yeah, that sounds like something he can do. Definitely a better idea than trying to mess with the ground beef and Italian sausage. Given his history of accidental cooking-related arson, he would rather pass the more risky steps over to Edge if he’s offering. 

“If you like,” he nods, going in for one more kiss — and man, Stretch sure is feeling the love today, that’s a fact — before grabbing the thawed meat and heading to the stove. “Have I ever told you about the first time I tried making lasagne?”

Moving his little chop chop station closer to the oven — and therefore closer to Edge — he shakes his head. “no, i don’t think you have.”

A small smile builds on Edge’s skull. “Well, it all started when Red found me some of those Garfield books in the dump.”

While sharing about how he used to bug Red about being just like a certain Monday-hating cat, Edge works with Stretch to make the lasagne. Gently, he talks him through certain processes, but never in an assholish way. Not Edge. Together, they layer in the ingredients. All the while, his sweetheart continues on with his story.

“— and when I found the recipe for a ‘quick and easy lasagne’, I could hardly resist, could I? I had finished training with Undyne early that day, plus I had most of the ingredients. It seemed hearty enough of a meal, so that night I decided to try it for my lazy cat of an older brother.”

Smiling widely, Rus covers the pan in foil, as per the instructions. “what did red think of it?”

Edge huffs out one of his almost laughs. “You know, love, he never did say. It must have been tolerable enough, because he asked for a second portion, but he will also do that with anything remotely edible; if I didn’t know any better, I would swear that he is actually a trash compactor.”

“i mean, still a valid possibility.”

“True. In any case, from what I can remember, that particular lasagne wasn’t very good. This one, though, should be much better.”

Flushing, Stretch elbows him lightly. “aw, sweet talker.” 

Another kiss, carefully dodging food-covered hands. “Only for you. Now, this has to cook for about two hours, correct?”

“mhm. think you might wanna kick back and check out this new puzzle book i left out on the coffee table for you?”

Just as expected, Edge’s eye sockets widen marginally, eye lights sparkling brighter than MGM certified ruby slippers. Perfect. To the untrained ear, his tone may be cooler than the South Pole in a blizzard, but Stretch is well-practiced at recognising the depth of his baby’s emotions. That’s why he can’t help but share in Edge’s delight as he responds, “You spoil me.”

“nonsense. now, you gonna let me get everything else ready or what?”

“Fine.” _I love you_ , he doesn’t say to follow it up. Not that he needs to; Stretch can hear those words in the way he rushes away to start at his puzzling, each fall of his foot announcing it loud as can be.

“have fun!” _Love you, too._

Stretch deals with the finishing touches, setting up the table. He decides to go all out, grabbing their — meaning Edge’s — fancy candles and the good napkins. Why not? Supper might not be as nice looking as when Edge does it, but it should be fully edible, so he’s gonna preemptively call it a success. And if not, then he tried. But hey, fancy wrapping at least counts for bonus points.

Taking a glance at the timer, Stretch can’t help but grin. Still over an hour and a half left before the lasagne is ready, and that doesn’t even include cooling time and reheating for the garlic toast. And he has the perfect idea of how to spend his time until then.

He may have tried to make supper all alone for Edge, but an early 'dessert' sounds like a treat best made and enjoyed together.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


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